


To Serve and Protect

by Ultrageekatlarge



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt!Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Magic Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-06 21:14:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultrageekatlarge/pseuds/Ultrageekatlarge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After something terrible happens, Arthur, Gwen, Gwaine, and Lancelot take their turns in protecting their protector, watching over their watcher.  Merlin’s the one in trouble, now, and it’s up to them to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a Gwen and Merlin friendship story, and suddenly it morphed into this big thing about everyone wanting to save Merlin. So that's fun. Also posted on ff.net. I own nothing. Takes place/was written post series 3. Enjoy?

“I’m off, for the night,” Merlin said, blowing out a candle.

Arthur frowned. “Have you finished all your chores?”

“Yes.”

“Cleaned my armor? Mucked the stables? Polished my goblets?”

“Yes, yes, and trick question, you haven’t any goblets,” Merlin said, “All dishes are sent to the kitchen staff.”

Arthur frowned, clearly wracking his mind for any other question to fire at his manservant. Merlin waited, hands behind his back, fingers crossed. “Then you’re free to go, Merlin.”

“Thank you, sire,” Merlin answered, “Sleep well.”

“Oh, and before you leave,” Arthur said as he lay down in the bed, “I’m at the training yards all day tomorrow with the knights.”

Merlin fought back a groan, and cursed silently. He waited for the other shoe to fall, for Arthur to say, ‘So be here early, Merlin’ or ‘Be sure to wear lots of padding, we’re using the staffs, Merlin’ or even ‘Make your peace with God and say your farewells, because the swords are coming out and it’s going to be a melee, and to win we have to stab a servant and, by the way, that servant will be you, Merlin’. Arthur said none of those things. In fact, what he said was, “So, I’m giving you the day off. Go…do whatever you do when you’re not here.”

Merlin frowned. He bit his cheek, just to check if he was actually dreaming. Then, he turned around, and said, “I’ve the day off?”

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur answered, “Unless, of course, you’d rather be our target –”

“Right, no work, got it,” Merlin said, smiling, “Good night.”

Arthur grunted in response, and Merlin scurried from the room. He all but bounced back to Gaius’s. 

They sat, quietly, eating their supper. Merlin couldn’t quit grinning to himself.

Gaius finally put down his fork and stared across the table. “Merlin, are you alright?” he asked.

“What, me?” Merlin said, “I’m fine, why?”

“You just seem very…happy,” Gaius said, “And it’s worrying me.”

“I’m not allowed to be in a good mood, is that it?” Merlin said in response, chewing a large piece of bread.

“When you’re happy, it generally means you’re up to something,” Gaius said, “Things don’t always go well when you’re up to something.”

“Gaius, I’m not up to anything,” Merlin said, “Arthur’s given me the day off tomorrow, is all, and I’m going to sleep until –”

“You’ll be able to get some things for me, then?” Gaius said, neatly cutting him off nor waiting for an answer, “Good. I’ve run low on dittany, thyme, monkshood, and nettles. It all grows about two hours into the forest, so you’ll have plenty of time and shouldn’t be too hard to locate. You’ll want to leave rather early.”  
“But it’s my day off!”

Gaius paused, “I could go, I suppose,” he said, sighing deeply, “After all, I only feed you, clothe you, keep you from getting killed by the king –“

“Fine, fine,” Merlin said sullenly, “Dittany, thyme, monkshood, and what was the last one?”

So the next morning found Merlin rising significantly earlier than usual and pulling his boots on in a half awake daze. The names of the four plants were doing cartwheels in his head. He stumbled outside just to realize that he’d left his bag behind, and staggered back in. Out the door he went again, just to realize he’d left his belt behind.

It took four more trips before Merlin was satisfied that he had not, in fact, left anything behind. All the while, he muttered the names of the four plants beneath his breath. Down the stairs he went, and out the door, and had almost made it to the lower town when he ran into Gwen. Literally.

“Sorry, sorry!” he said, scrambling to help repack a basket that Gwen had been carrying, and thus, had spilled, “I didn’t see you coming.”

She waved away his apologies with a twitch of her hand. “I heard you’d the day off,” she said.

“Yeah, I suppose. Gaius has me running around in the woods, though,” Merlin said, and glanced down to see that the basket Gwen held was filled with bread, cheese, and fruit, 

“Gwen, if you’re planning on surprising Arthur, he’s training all –”

“I know,” Gwen said, “It’s not for Arthur and I. It’s for us.”

“Us?” Merlin said, frowning, and helping Gwen to her feet, “Us, as in, you and I?”

“Well,” she amended, “You and I, plus Gwaine. He’s meeting us at the gate. Said something about fetching water. We’ll be gone most of the day, after all.”

Merlin blinked, thinking it was far too early to be trying to fill in the gaps. Of course, those gaps may’ve existed simply because it was early. Merlin shook his head, forcing himself out of that train of thought. “We?” he said, and then, “Where are we going?”

Gwen hid a small smile. “Gaius said you were going into the woods,” she answered, “And I need a break, I suppose, from here. I was hoping I could go with you.”

When Arthur had knighted Elyan, it had come with a consequence that was, though not unwelcome, completely on accident. Knights were nobility, and thus their families were nobility by default. Gwen had suddenly found herself catapulted into the station of ‘Lady’, and Merlin knew that she was having trouble adjusting. “That would be excellent,” he answered, but then another thought occurred to him, one that he blamed on the early hour once more, “Isn’t Gwaine a knight?”

“Yes,” answered said knight, who was walking towards them with three water flasks slung over his shoulder.

“But,” Merlin said, “Arthur’s training with all of you today.”

“He’s delegated me to keep you two safe on this outing of ours,” Gwaine answered, flipping his hair from his face. The knight wasn’t in his chainmail or red cape, instead in street clothes. He continued, “You know, in case of bandits. Or wolves.”

Merlin pointedly ignored Gwen’s questioning glance as Gwaine smirked. The three walked from the city, laughing and talking. It became clear that Arthur hadn’t actually delegated Gwaine, but rather Gwaine had delegated himself, sending a message along to the prince through Percival.

“Arthur’s not going to be pleased with you,” Merlin said to Gwaine as they walked through the trees, “Skipping out on practice. Doesn’t that go against the knight’s code, or something?”

“All I know about the code is to stab the bad guys and not to spit in front of women. And of course Arthur won’t be pleased – he’s never pleased,” Gwaine said, “Except for when my Lady Guinevere is present. And he knows where I am by now. Besides – the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and I’m getting city itch.”

Gwen cut in, asking before Merlin had a chance too, “City itch?”

“Everything’s too loud, all close together,” Gwaine explained, “It’s good to leave the bustle for a bit, yeah?”

\--

“Is this thyme?” Gwaine asked, offering up yet another green, leafy plant.

“No,” Merlin answered, carefully setting some monkshood in his bag.

Gwaine tossed the offending plant over his shoulder, and wandered off. Gwen walked over and kneeled next to Merlin, sticking the dittany in to join the monkshood. Gwaine came bouncing back, a new plant clutched in his hand, and presented it like a small child who’d found a pretty stone. “Is this thyme?” he asked.

Both Merlin and Gwen glanced up, looked at the plant, and in unison, said, “No.”

“I thought he said he doesn’t spend time in the city,” Gwen muttered to Merlin as Gwaine stared at the leaves in his hand mutinously, “If he’s been in the country, he should know what thyme is.”

“He’s not been in the country,” Merlin answered, smirking, “He’s been in taverns.

Gwaine tossed the plant over to join the rapidly growing pile of greenery that was not thyme, and ignored them both. “Is there anything else I could be looking for besides this?” he asked.

“You could go and search for some nettles,” Merlin said, “They shouldn’t be –”

A twig snapped from within the trees. All three of their heads snapped up, staring in the direction of the sound. “What was that?” Gwen whispered.

“Probably nothing,” Gwaine said, but he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, “Just a squirrel.”

“Is this like when there were pheasants,” Merlin hissed, “But they were actually giant flying magical lizards who tried to eat us?”

“You are growing into a pessimist, Merlin,” Gwaine answered, with a grin, “I can’t say that I like it.”

Gwen, confused though she looked, relaxed slightly. From the other side of the clearing they were in, some birds suddenly took to the air in flight. “Another squirrel?” Merlin said.

An arrow buried itself into the tree just next to Gwaine’s head. “Run!” the knight said, and the three of them took off into the trees. Merlin’s bag and Gwen’s basket lay forgotten in the grass. They could hear the men swarming behind them, but then Gwaine reached out and grabbed Merlin’s shirt, who in turn clutched Gwen’s arm, and the three of them dove into a small gap that was in the forest floor. The bandits leapt over their heads.

“Squirrels with weapons,” Gwaine said, eyes glittering, but then he grew serious. “How many, do you think?”

“Ten, eleven,” Merlin said, “Probably more.

“Right, then,” Gwaine said, nodding, “Time for you two to be off.”

“We’re not leaving you here,” Gwen said. Gwaine frowned and drew his sword.

“It’s only a matter of moments before they double back,” Gwaine said, “I’ll lead them off.”

“Gwaine –” Gwen began again.

“Merlin, take her and go,” Gwaine said, giving Merlin a shove, “Bring Gwen to safety, and run back to Camelot. Go, Merlin!”

Merlin hesitated. Every instinct was screaming at him to stay together, to not let Gwaine die to save him. But to stay with Gwaine meant risking Gwen. That was something they could not do. “Don’t be a hero. I mean it,” Merlin said finally, “You can’t drink if you’re dead.”

“Wiser words haven’t been spoken, my friend,” Gwaine answered, and then levered himself out of the gap. Instantly, there were men shouting and the sounds of running footsteps.

Merlin waited a moment, until the sounds of the chase died slightly. Grabbing Gwen’s arm again, he helped her from the gap. As soon as he clambered out as well, there was a loud shout. Merlin looked up to find at least five bandits heading straight for them.

“Run!” Merlin hissed, and let go of her arm, giving her a slight push to put her ahead of him. They sprinted through the trees, and another arrow buried itself in the tree just in front of Merlin. Twigs from the trees scratched at his face and arms, and he could hear Gwen’s breath coming in short bursts. They were running blind – Merlin wasn’t familiar with this area of the forest.

They emerged from the trees, only to find themselves at the top of a towering cliff face that, until about one second ago, Merlin hadn’t known existed. “Merlin,” Gwen whispered, grabbing his shirt sleeve with shaking hands, “What do we do?”

The yells of the bandits, the sound of cracking sticks and pounding feet, echoed from the trees behind them.

Merlin clenched his jaw slightly, and then looked down at Gwen. Her eyes were wide but her hands were steady, her mouth pressed into a hard line but ready to fight. Arthur would kill him if he let anything happen to her. Even if Arthur wasn’t part of the equation, Merlin couldn’t let anything happen to her. The bandits were getting closer. Merlin found himself quite out of options.

“Gwen,” he said, “Please, please don’t hate me.”

“Merlin, what –”

He grasped her face with both hands, and felt the familiar heat of magic pressing against the back of his eyes. He focused on the one thought, protect Gwen, and pushed it forward. He knew the exact moment his eyes changed color, knew when Gwen suddenly realized. He watched as the emotions flew across her face, and her mouth dropped open into a circle.

“Merlin?” she whispered.

The bandits broke the treeline, and came straight for them, and Merlin counted seven of them. More than he was prepared to fight. Merlin swallowed thickly, and said, “As long as there is breath in my body, you will come to no harm. You will be protected. Now, run along the cliff line.”

She backed away, and then, with a single tear running down her face, said, “What about you?

“Gwen,” Merlin said, “Just…run.”

As Gwen hitched up her skirts and ran, Merlin turned away. He raised a hand. He spat out the words, and sent the first man flying backwards. He managed to get the second, too, but then they were on him, hitting and beating with clubs and fists and feet. Merlin somehow managed to get to his feet again, sending a bandit flying, screetching, over the side of the cliff. Of course, then a club smashed into the side of his head.

Things got…fuzzy.

He could feel himself being dragged. Gwen was yelling, somewhere, yelling out his name. Merlin thought he should be worried about that. He wondered if Gwaine was still alive. Someone grabbed him by an arm, roughly hauling him to his feet. His head hit something again, which really didn’t help matters. A bag was shoved over his head.

Dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After something terrible happens, Arthur, Gwen, Gwaine, and Lancelot take their turns in protecting their protector, watching over their watcher. Merlin's the one in trouble, now, and it's up to them to save him.

When Arthur heard the knock at his door, he breathed a sigh of relief as Gaius entered. He was sore and bruised from the brutal day he had forced himself and his knights through. Well. His knights minus Gwaine. When Percival had arrived and reported that Gwaine had fled to the forest hiding behind the guise of protecting Merlin and Gwen, Arthur could hardly say it was a bad idea. He also couldn’t say that it was an action of pure intent – Gwaine was skipping practice.

Arthur wasn’t pleased.

“The salve you requested,” Gaius said, “For your bruises.

“Thank you, Gaius,” Arthur said, and then added, “If you happen to see Gwaine, send him here.”

“Gwaine, sire?”

“He went with Gwen and Merlin, instead of coming to the training yard,” Arthur said, tapping his fingers on the table in front of him. Gwaine had played his cards well in order to escape the day long extra training. It didn’t mean that Arthur had to like it. “Send Merlin to find him if you don’t see him.”

“Merlin hasn’t been here all day,” Gaius said, “And this is the first that I heard he didn’t go out alone. Gwaine and Gwen went with him, sire?”

“Yes,” Arthur answered with a nod, and said, “They aren’t back yet?”

“That is as it seems,” Gaius said, “And I have to admit I’m slightly concerned. If it were just Merlin, I wouldn’t be as much – he gets lost quite often, you know, and eventually finds his way back. But if Guinevere and Sir Gwaine were with them…he should have been back by now.”

Arthur sighed, “I know,” he answered, “First thing in the morning, I’ll take a patrol out.”

Gaius bowed. “Thank you,” he said, and then left the room. Arthur stared out the window, and tried to push back the bad feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong.

\--

Gwaine’s back hurt. The stone walls behind him and the chains that held him there did little to help. His head hurt, as well, almost enough to make him forget about the sore muscles on his back. He’d managed to hold some of the bandits back, for a bit, but then one snuck up behind him and bashed him in the back with a club. It was a coward’s move, but Gwaine couldn’t deny its effectiveness. Crumbled on the ground, wind knocked from him, it was easy for the bandits to tie him up and toss a bag over his head.

He had been unceremoniously slung into something hard and wooden and painfully wheel-barrow shaped. He made a run for it, once, but didn’t get very far. He’d managed to leave some markers, though, in case anyone were to come in search of him. So, for what felt like hours, he was squashed into the wheelbarrow. He had heard water running, at one point, and then they’d crossed what felt like a bridge.

A bridge over water. “Spectacular, Gwaine,” he said to the empty cell around him, “Very specific.”

The cell didn’t answer. Gwaine could only take that as a good sign. He wondered if Merlin and Gwen were safe. He wondered how far they were from Camelot, now, if they’d managed to get away.

Ironically, it was at that moment the door to the dungeon flew open, slamming into the wall. If Gwaine jumped slightly in surprise, well, there was no one around to prove it. Three bandits came in, and walked over to Gwaine, “I’m going to unlock you,” one said, “If you try to fight, we’ll take a finger from one of your friends we’ve got upstairs for every punch you land.”

And…there were Gwaine’s questions answered. No, Merlin and Gwen were not safe, they were fairly far from Camelot, and no, they hadn’t managed to get away.

The bandits pulled a bag over Gwaine’s head again, and as the pulled him up some stairs, the only thing he could think of was that he should’ve just gone to Arthur’s stupid training day.

When they pulled the bag from Gwaine’s head, the large room they were in reminded him of unpleasantly of Jarl’s castle. He was being to think of these men less as bandits and as a more organized threat. It did little to ease his nerves. Just next to him, Gwen was kneeling. Her eyes were fixed on the floor in front of her, stony and unmoving. To her left, Merlin was sitting in a similar position, but the half of his face that Gwaine could see was striped wit blood. Gwaine stared at him, and when Merlin looked up at him, his eyes were slightly unfocused. Still, he gave Gwaine a small nod.

A very tall man walked up to them. Everything about him seemed stretched out and long: arms, legs, torso, nose, even his earlobes were ridiculously elongated. “All right, ye wee prisoners,” the man said, “Here’s how this’ll go – I ask for yer names, and ye gimme ‘em.”

He looked pointedly at Gwaine. “We’ll start with ye, my fighting friend.”

He knew he should lie. He knew he should tell them that his name was Bo and he was the son of a farmer, good for nothing but cutting wheat and herding cows. He knew that if their captors thought they had leverage, things would only get worse. Instead, he gave the tall man his most dashing smile, the one that had defused blood feuds and lifted women’s skirts in over ten kingdoms. “I’m Sir Gwaine of Camelot,” he said, and cheerfully added, “Pleasure for you, I’m sure.”

The man ignored his additional comments, and turned his attention to Gwen, “And ye, m’dear?”

“Gwen,” she said, still staring down at the stones in the floor.

“And finally, ye,” the man looked at Merlin.

“Merlin,” he said.

“Are ye sure, lad?” the tall man leaned in closer, “Because I’m lookin’ for a magician, see. His name is Emrys. Ye positive that isn’t yer name?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, but his eyes twitched away to avoid the tall man’s eyes. Gwaine’s breath caught in his throat – Merlin wasn’t the best liar in the world, after all. He wasn’t the worst, either, but not the best by any means.

He hummed, and said, “Ye sure?”

Merlin nodded. “My name is Mer –”

The tall man slapped him, Merlin’s head whipping to the side.

“Leave him alone!” Gwen snapped before Gwaine could even sort the angry haze in his head into words. Her eyes twitched from the floor for the first time since Gwaine had been dragged in. The man’s attention flicked over to her.

“Speak only when spoken to, wench,” the tall man said, and raised his hand to strike her. Gwen flinched away. His eyes slid slightly out of focus, and then he dropped his hand away. “Eldon!” he barked, turning from the three kneeling prisoners. Gwaine felt his shoulders relax slightly, Gwen shaking slightly against his side. Merlin was blinking heavily, eyes even more unfocused than they’d been before.

“Yeah?” Eldon answered.

“Fetch in Clement.”

“Aye.”

They were left to stare up at the tall bandit. He cracked his knuckles, and grinned. “Well, my dears,” he said, smiling a grin that was missing several teeth, “My name is Thom, and I’ll be hosting ye for the evening. I’ve been paid a handsome fee to nap ye outta the forest. What I didn’t realize is that ye’d come in triplicate. I didn’t know which of ye to nap, only that my scenter Clement was sent sneezing by the magic. Personally, my money’s on ye,” he said, and mussed Merlin’s hair.

Christ, Gwaine thought, they know about Merlin. Next to him, Gwen smothered a small gasp, and Gwaine thought, Christ, she knows about Merlin. 

It went without saying, of course, that he knew about Merlin. Gwaine, contrary to some opinions, was not an idiot. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact moment he’d figured out his friend’s secret, but he guessed it was somewhere around the time that dwarf on the bridge started bellowing about Courage, Strength, and Magic. Arthur wasn’t magic. Gwaine wasn’t magic. Merlin…ah, Gwaine had thought, that makes sense. And the more stories Gwaine gathered of his trouble finding friend, the more sense it made.

On the other side of Gwen, Gwaine watched from the corner of his eye as Merlin’s jaw clenched tightly.

Thom continued on, “Now, I know what ye are thinking – I’m here to ransom ye from Prince Arthur and the Pendragons. I’m not. I’m to deliver the one the Druids call Emrys to my patron. One of ye lucky bastards – or bitch, I suppose – gets to go on up to the courtyard in the morn. Ye other two, whoever ye may be, yer fates have yet to be decided. I may ransom ye, may not. Maybe my patron will buy ye too, and – ah, Clement!”

The man in question – Clement – was proceeded by his stench. He was the ugliest man that Gwaine had ever seen, all bent over and round. His arms protruded from his sides like bows, his legs were short but as thick as tree trunks. “You wanted me?” he grunted up at Thom.

Thom nodded, and Gwaine was somewhat amused to see that apparently, Clement’s stench was not lost on the bandit leader. He backed up several steps and said, “Which one?”

Clement lumbered forward, and stuck his face inches from Gwaine’s. It was only his bonds that kept him from reeling backwards. Clement inhaled deeply through his nose, and then shook his head, “This ‘un s‘bout as magic as shit,” he said.

He repeated the process with Gwen. She reacted the same as Gwaine, pulling her head back and away and breathing through her mouth in quick, shallow bursts as the man spilled his noxious breath over her face. Neither Gwen nor Gwaine dared to even blink as Clement breathed by Merlin. Gwen looked up at him, the silent fear bright in her eyes. Gwaine twitched his head slightly, an acknowledgement of, yes, I know too.

Clement spent a longer time by Merlin, and finally stepped away. Merlin gasped – clearly, he’d been holding his breath.

“These ‘uns, though,” Clement said, twitching a finger towards Gwen and then Merlin, “They smell of magics. He more’n her, he reeks of it. Bind him. If the girl has any, it’s not enough to spring ‘em all, not worth the trouble of bindin’ her.”

Thom nodded, and walked over to a cupboard, and pulled out a silver band. There were symbols, etched in black, all around it’s edges. Thom walked over to squat slightly in front of the three of them. He stared at Merlin, though. Gwaine didn’t like it. “Do ye know what this is, lad?” Thom said, and whispered something into the metal, causing it to spring open. Gwaine had not a magical bone in his body, but he could feel the waves of utter wrongness rolling off of the metal.

Merlin shook his head, and said, “No,” in answer to Thom’s question. Gwaine didn’t buy it for a second, because Merlin was staring at the band like it was wrought by the devil.

Thom locked the band around Merlin’s arm. The effect was instant – whatever color had been left in Merlin’s face drained away, and he gasped, slumping down against his bonds. His breathing became shallow, erratic. “Merlin!” Gwen said, and Gwaine strained forward.

“What did you do to him?” he demanded.

Thom just waved a hand, and said, “Bring them back to the cells for the night. Cor should be here by night fall tomorrow.”

The bags were thrust over their heads again, and Gwaine swore as they were dragged out of the room.

\--

The next morning, Arthur set off from the city with Lancelot in tow. He would’ve liked a larger fighting force, but after Morgana’s brief stint as queen, the knights of Camelot were not as numerous as they once were. Arthur upon waking, had went to ask Gaius if Merlin had returned at all in the night. One look at the physician’s face gave him his answer.

There hadn’t been any sign of Gwaine or Gwen, either.

And so it was, mounted on horseback, Lancelot and Arthur set out to find their lady love, a wayward servant, and a truant knight. It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke, Arthur thought. Eventually, they came to a clearing. An arrow was imbedded into one of the trees. Two discarded bags, filled with food and herbs, lay on the grass. Arthur dismounted, and picked both up.

“Merlin’s bag,” Lancelot said, looking at the well worn leather, “They were here. And…Guinevere’s basket?”

Arthur nodded, securing both to his saddle. He tied his horse to the tree, and looked down to the ground. “They went this way.”

“They were followed,” Lancelot added, pointing to the grass, and tying his horse as Arthur had. He gestured to the arrow, and said in a hushed voice, “They were attacked.”

Arthur drew his sword. “Let’s find them,” he said.

The two crept forward through the trees. The trail quickly broke off in two directions. “They split up,” Arthur muttered, “Why the hell would they split up?”

“They probably didn’t have a choice,” Lancelot said.

Arthur hummed slightly in agreement. It was impossible to tell how many had gone which way. So, he pointed to his left. “Lancelot, follow that trail. I’ll take this one. Use caution – there’s no telling what we’ll find.”

Lancelot nodded, and walked off. Arthur glued his attention to his own trail, eyes flicking over the ground as he crept forward. He only had to follow the trail for maybe five minutes before he came across evidence of a struggle. “Gwaine, then,” Arthur said, bending to look at the crumpled form of a dead bandit. The knight hadn’t been victorious in his fight, though. A trail led off further into the woods. Arthur stood, brushing off his knees, to follow it.

“Arthur!” Lancelot called from the distance, and again, “Arthur!”

Arthur turned and sprinted towards the direction of Lancelot’s voice. When he broke the tree line, Lancelot was standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down. Arthur moved to stand next to him, terrified of what might be at the bottom of the ledge. It wasn’t Gwaine. But would it be Merlin? Gwen? But when he caught a look of what was there – that is, the dead body of a nameless bandit – the relief was enough to send his back erupting into a cold sweat.

“It looks like Merlin tried to hold them off so Gwen could get away,” Lancelot said, “But she didn’t get far. He managed to get one of them, at least.”

“And then they dragged them off,” Arthur added, “Gwaine too.”

Lancelot’s mouth settled into a hard line. “There’s more,” he said, and gestured to a stone that stuck up like a fist from the ground. There was blood on it. It made Arthur sick to look at it, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away.

“We should probably go and get reinforcements,” Arthur said finally, and looked sideways over at Lancelot, “Before we go after them.”

“Probably,” Lancelot said.

Then, without another word, they both turned to follow the trail deeper into the woods, and away from Camelot.


	3. Chapter 3

The world was spinning around Merlin in slow, sickening lurches. When he was pulled to his feet he nearly vomited on the floor. He thanked whatever higher power was listening for saving him from that indignity, in the very least.

Gwaine was roughly tossed into a cell, stumbling and almost falling. The bandits carefully led Gwen into a second, separate cell. Merlin, in a vague and disconnected sort of way, wondered if it was because of some sort of twisted chivalry or if his spell from the cliff was actually keeping Gwen safe. Of course, then they’d bodily tossed Merlin into a third cell, and he lost track of all thoughts in a whirl of dizziness. He pressed his face against the cobblestones of the dungeon, and did his damnedest not to pass out.

He squeezed his eyes shut to try and block out the light of the flickering torch, which only served to make his head pound all the more. Someone was quietly muttering above his head, fingers skating through his hair. “Merlin, Merlin,” said the voice, “Merlin, calm down. Please, you’re scaring me.”

Gwen. It was Gwen. Which meant that it was probably Gwen stroking his hair. Oh, Arthur would just love that. He opened his eyes again, avoiding the firelight, to see Gwen reaching through the bars of her cell to stroke his hair. Gwaine’s cell was also connected to his, so the three prisons formed something of an ‘L’. The three of them had somehow ended up in the corner where all the cells met.

“There you are,” Gwaine said, just as quietly, “Tell us what’s wrong, mate.”

“Head,” Merlin said, and talking made his stomach roll even more, “Feel sick. S’not…not right. Dizzy.”

“Okay, okay,” Gwaine said, still in that quiet, lulling voice, “Close your eyes, try and rest.”

Merlin let his eyes flutter shut, but he couldn’t let himself drift away. He felt too wrong, all pent in and shaking. “What did they do to him?” Gwen whispered. He felt her untie his neckerchief, and then she started dabbing at where the bandit had smacked his head earlier. He hissed, and she whispered an apology before continuing her ministrations, cleaning off his face a little next.

“It’s that,” Gwaine said, and Merlin felt the knight’s hand rest on the band, “It’s hurting him.”

“Can we get it off?”

Gwaine tried to pry it off, and it only grew tighter. “Stop!” Merlin said, curling in on himself, wondering if it was possible for a person to randomly explode. The pressure built in his head, and his chest constricted, “Stop, stop, stop, stop!”

Gwaine’s hands flew away as if they’d been burned. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, and then, to Gwen, “I don’t think we can. Not without hurting him more.”

They stopped talking, and Merlin let his eyes flutter shut again. If he didn’t move, and stayed still, the nausea went away. Apparently, he did such a good job of not doing those two things that he successfully convinced Gwen and Gwaine that he’d fallen asleep, for they immediately started to talk about him.

“Is it because of his…” Gwen trailed off, and Merlin felt a thrill of fear. Gwen knew. Gwen knew. He’d cast a spell on her, and she knew. She was going to hate him. And she’d tell Arthur, who’d hate him too. Then he’d be burned alive in the courtyard in one big ‘Let’s All Hate Merlin’ festival. They’d probably throw things at him as well. Camelot’s citizens seemed to enjoy throwing things at Merlin.

“His magic?” Gwaine finished. Merlin sighed slightly – of course Gwaine knew. After that show upstairs, one would have to be a complete idiot not to realize that Merlin had some sort of magic. Merlin could feel Gwen nod. Gwaine sighed, somewhere to Merlin’s left, and said, “Of course it is. What else could it be?”

“Did you know?” Gwen asked in a small voice, “Before this, I mean. Did you know about the, uh, the magic?”

From the sounds of fabric on stone, Gwaine shifted and sat. “I had guessed,” he said.

“How long?” Gwen pressed.

“It’s a long story I’ve promised I’d never go into,” Gwaine said, and Merlin could only assume that it meant when they’d interfered on Arthur’s quest, “But…a while. Merlin doesn’t know I know, you know. I mean, he probably knows I know now, but not that I knew before. But, better question – why does Clement the Smelly say you smell like magic?”

“Merlin did something, just before we got caught. I think that he cast a spell. He said,” Gwen said, shifting, her fingers pausing in stroking Merlin’s hair, “He said that I was protected.”

“Ah,” Gwaine said, “I suppose that’s why our delightful host upstairs didn’t hit you before.”

“Gwaine,” Gwen said, apprehension in her voice, “Do we have to be worried?” 

“Lady Gwen, flower of my eye, we are locked in the dungeons of a band of crazed outlaws who are planning on selling us to an unknown person. No one knows where we are. If we make a run for it, we’ll have to worry about carting Merlin with us, because he doesn’t really seem in a running sort of way. If there was any a time to worry, I rather think this is it.”

Gwen cleared her throat. “I mean…Merlin has magic, and everyone I’ve met with magic has been corrupted, or worse, and –”

“Guinevere,” Gwaine said, and Merlin mused for a moment that it was the most serious he’d ever heard the knight sound, “Stop. He’s Merlin.”

“You’re right,” Gwen said, and she sounded guilty, “Of course you’re right.”

“And I won’t hear any more of that kind of talk, understood?” Gwaine said, still in that serious, not-Gwaine tone of voice. Merlin imagined Gwen nodding, but Gwaine wasn’t finished, “And I need you to swear that when we return to Camelot, you will speak of this to no one.”

“But, Arthur –“

“No one,” Gwaine repeated, “Especially not Arthur.”

“You would have me lie to him,” Gwen said, her voice tense. 

“Not lie, just…not tell, either,” Gwaine said, “They would see Merlin killed, do you understand? Arthur-”

“Arthur would never,” Gwen said, “Not to Merlin.”

“Arthur is a good man, and I have to believe – for Merlin’s sake – that once he’s king he’ll repeal the laws on magic. But,” Gwaine said, “He is loyal to his father, and Uther will not care what good Merlin’s done. He will drag him into that courtyard and we will be forced to watch it happen. I will not allow that. I cannot. Could you?”

Again, Merlin could feel Gwen shift. His head was spinning, and not just from the silver band. “I won’t tell,” she said softly, and after a moment, asked, “Are you hurt?”

“A little sore,” Gwaine said, and there was the sound of a back cracking, “Nothing I can’t handle, though.”

It was quiet, and Merlin concentrated on his breathing – in, then out. In, then out. Eventually, he dozed off into a restless sleep, and dreamed of being trapped alone on a boat in the ocean during a storm.

\--

“Really?” Arthur said, agape, “I mean, just…really?”

“Arthur?” Lancelot asked. They were crouched in some bushes.

The two had followed the trail through the woods. The sun had reached its highest point and was beginning to sink down by the time they reached the end of the tracks. They’d led straight to a worn and crumbling castle, walls crawling with ivy and guards standing idly about on the walls, crossbows held relaxed in their hands.

“It’s always old castles,” Arthur said, “These people are always hiding in crumbling, ruinous castles.” 

“Ruins are dark, atmospheric,” Lancelot mused, “Fortunately, they’re also old, which means that there are more holes to sneak in through.”

“Let’s split up, then,” Arthur said, “Check the perimeter. Meet back here.”

Lancelot nodded, and still crouched down, slinked away. Arthur set off in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, he didn’t get very far. Something sharp and fast struck him in the arm, and he collapsed to the ground, unable to move, unable to call for Lancelot, unable to do anything but lie there.

A figure loomed above him. He held a staff in his hand, an ornate stone set in the top of it that was glowing with a pale, sickly, yellow light. He regarded Arthur curiously, and said mildly, “My, what have I done?”

Arthur settled for growling wordlessly, as he couldn’t move his jaw to talk.

The man grinned a chilling, mirthless grin, and twisted his wrist. “Well, I’ve an appointment to keep. I suppose you’ll just have to accompany me.”

Arthur lurched across the ground behind the man – the sorcerer – as if he were tied to him.

\--

When Merlin woke again, he didn’t feel any better, not exactly. He didn’t feel like he was going to throw up any more, at the very least. Then he moved. “Oh, God,” he moaned. His skin was crawling now, too, itching and itching.

“He lives!” Gwaine said, moving over to the bars that separated them. “Good afternoon.”

“Afternoon?”

“We’ve been making sure you’re alive,” Gwaine answered, “You never really got completely coherent, though, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

“Gwaine,” Merlin said, “Gwaine, you’re my friend.”

“Yes,” Gwaine said slowly, watching Merlin carefully. Merlin could hear Gwen move closer, obviously concerned.

“Then do me a favor,” Merlin groaned, “Kill me now.”

Gwaine chuckled, and Gwen reached over to pat Merlin’s arm. “You shouldn’t joke about that,” she chided gently, “Not when we’re here.”

“She’s right, you know,” Gwaine said, “Besides, I won’t kill you. It would annoy the princess.”

Then the door to the dungeon was flung open once more. Thom stared at them through the bars. “Bring ‘em up,” he said, and turned away. Merlin wondered if Gwaine was right, if he was actually turning into a pessimist. Because, once again, he had that terrible feeling that everything was about to get much, much worse.

And, as he was about to find out, he was right. Again.

\--

“Who’s he?” the tall man asked.

“Hm?” the sorcerer said, and then, toed Arthur with a highly polished boot, “Oh, him. He’s just the crown prince of Camelot. He was skulking about in the woods. Maybe you and yours would find a use for him?”

“Do ye have a price, or are all offers considered?”

“Thom,” said the sorcerer, “If you do indeed have Emrys for me, then you may have Arthur Pendragon for free.”

Arthur, still unable to move, growled again. He could only hope that Lancelot would realize that something was wrong, and soon. After the sorcerer – Cor, the bandits had called him – had paralyzed him in the woods, he’d dragged Arthur up to the front gates, chatting idly the entire way, pointing out a butterfly and commenting on its grace. He was either powerful enough to actually not be worried, or he was mad. Maybe both, Arthur hadn’t decided quite yet.

Thom motioned with a hand, and some bandits came forward and tied Arthur’s hands to a wooden rail that ran along a water trough. Cor looked at him, and the sorcerer’s eyes flared gold, and Arthur found he was once again able to move.

At that point, the bandits from earlier emerged from the stairs, towing three figures with them. Gwaine was limping slightly, two bandits holding his arms in case he attempted to run. None of them even touched Gwen, and she walked quietly, head slightly bowed, between two. Merlin, however, had hair matted with blood and was being all but dragged by another pair of bandits. He looked pale, and was squinting against the light of the outdoors. A bruise spread just beneath his left eye.

“Where do ye want ‘em, Thom?” one of the bandit guards asked.

Thom scratched his head, and said, “Put ‘em by the other one.”

At his words, Gwaine’s head whipped in Arthur’s direction and, if Arthur hadn’t known better, looked even more anxious. They were lined up, Gwen and Gwaine standing, Merlin sagging, leaning heavily against Gwaine. Though the knight’s hands were bound, he was somehow managing to hold Merlin up with an elbow and a shoulder. Arthur remained half laying, half sitting on the ground.

“What are you doing here?” Gwaine said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Rescuing you,” Arthur answered.

“Ah, right,” Gwaine said, “Everything going according to plan, then?”

“Lancelot’s around somewhere,” Arthur said, and flicked his eyes to Merlin, and tried to convince himself he wasn’t worried, “What happened?”

Gwaine’s mouth turned into a tight line, but before he could say anything, Cor barked out, moving to stand in front of them, “Silence! I will have silence!”

One of the other bandits hauled Arthur to his feet. Thom stood next to the sorcerer, and nodded at Merlin. “I’m thinking that he’s who ye’ve been looking for, and my Clement says the girlie smells like magic.”

“Her? Please. She’s just been spelled,” he scoffed, and leaned in closer to Gwen. She turned her head away from him slightly. Arthur nearly growled again. Cor tilted his head slightly, and stepped back from Gwen, “Although, it’s a powerful enchantment. And different. Unique. You may actually have who I’m looking for this time.”

“My men say it was the boy that did it,” Thom supplied. Arthur felt very much like he had missed something dreadfully important. There was also the fact that neither Gwen nor Gwaine would meet his eyes. Thom continued, “He also threw one over a cliff, and I don’t know if Gerard’ll walk again, he hit the tree that hard.”

“Wait, Merlin?” Arthur said, “You’re mistaken, surely.”

He received a punch to the stomach for his troubles. As he struggled to catch the wind that had been knocked out him, the bandit who had struck him said, “He said silence before, and you ain’t bein’ silent.”

“I see,” Cor hummed slightly beneath his breath, and ignoring Arthur’s outburst completely, “You’ve binded him?” he said.

“Aye,” Thom said, “I can undo it, if ye wish.”

“That would be good, I think, it’s impossible to tell anything with it on. Look at him, he can’t even stand.”

Thom moved forward, and Gwaine elbowed Merlin slightly. Arthur realized that his manservant’s eyes had drifted close while Thom and Cor talked. Thom reached out, and grabbed Merlin’s arm. There was a loud snap, much like a stick breaking, just as the bandit pulled a metal ring off of the limb.

“Right, so he can take it off,” Gwaine muttered, glaring darkly at Thom the entire time.

The effect on Merlin, however, was instant. He straightened, blinking like an owl, and shook his head like a dog shaking water from its fur. “Oh, ears popped there,” he muttered, stretching his jaw.

Cor, though, was simply looking at Merlin. It made Arthur’s skin crawl. Merlin, still blinking heavily, finally noticed the attention he was getting from the sorcerer. He froze, and a very still and resigned look settled over his face.

“Emrys,” Cor said, finally, “By God, they’ve actually managed to catch you. It is an honor, truly.”

“M-my name’s not Emrys,” Merlin said, “You’ve got the wrong person.”

It was the stutter that made Arthur’s thoughts grind to a stop. Merlin didn’t stutter when he was scared, or worried, or angry. Merlin only stuttered when he was lying. But that was ridiculous, Merlin was Merlin, not this Emrys person. However – that didn’t mean that Merlin wasn’t hiding something about whoever Emrys was. Arthur could only assume that his manservant had gotten in over his head. Again.

“Oh, yes, I see,” Cor said, looking at the other three prisoners and away from Merlin, “They don’t know, do they? The girl does, I think, unless you put that protection spell without her knowledge. The prince and the knight, do they know?”

Merlin, jaw set, no longer blinking, said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And if that wasn’t a lie, then Arthur would eat his own crown, jewels and all.

“Oh, look at the princeling twitch,” Cor said, “He’s so confused, isn’t he? Your knight, though, he’s a bit quiet. Does he know too? I was hoping for a much bigger reveal, you understand. When I heard there were three of you, and then when I found the prince, I thought that this would be fun, dramatic. The unveiling of the great masquerader of Camelot.”

“He’s not lying,” Gwaine jumped in, “Whoever you’re looking for, you’ve got the wrong person.”

“Please, no comments from the spectators,” Cor said, and the same bandit who had punched Arthur stepped forward and gagged Gwaine. As the bandit tied the bit of cloth, Arthur reached over and, still with his hands bound, carefully eased a dagger from the bandit’s belt. Quietly, subtely, he began to saw at the ropes around his wrists.  
Cor had returned his attentions to Merlin.

“The more I hear of you, Emrys, the more I’m…disappointed. Protecting the Pendragons, serving Camelot, laying your life on the line for those who would kill you as soon as look at you, if they were to discover your secret,” Cor said, “And yet, the Druids seem to think that you’re the one who’s going to bring magic back to Camelot. But how can you do that, if you refuse to do anything? I’m sure you have your reasons, but all the same, you must understand that I have mine. What I have to do now gives me no pleasure.”

All of the hair on the back of Arthur’s neck stood up at that. The knife slipped through his ropes, and Arthur passed the dagger to Gwaine. In a matter of seconds the knight was free as well. He passed the knight back to Arthur, who slipped it into Gwen’s hand. She jumped slightly at the touch of the cold metal, and slowly began to cut through her bonds.

Cor had walked away, talking as he went. “Emrys, if you won’t do what magic asks of you,” he said, “Then I am given no choice but to take the responsibility from you.”  
He began to speak an incantation (Arthur recognized the words of the Old Religion). Two wooden posts curled up out of the cobblestones, both bent and warped.

“My name is Merlin,” Merlin said, “I don’t know who you’re –”

“No, of course you don’t, not while Prince Arthur is in hearing distance,” Cor said, and barked out another series of words in the language of the Old Religion, and Merlin jerked forward with a yelp, landing directly between the two posts. The stone on the top of Cor’s staff pulsed ominously with a sickly, yellow light.

“Leave him alone!” Arthur yelled, starting forward. Gwaine was right with him. Arthur was wondering what the hell was taking Lancelot.

Cor rolled his eyes, and jabbed the staff in their direction. Both Arthur and Gwaine went flying backwards, landing by the trough again. Gwen had given up all pretences, sawing at her ropes desperately. Her hands were covered in small cuts from slipping with the dagger.

Eyes flaring gold once more, ropes spiraled out of the two gnarled posts that stood in the courtyard, wrapping around Merlin’s wrists and pulling him to his feet. Arthur and Gwaine started forward again, and again they were sent airborne by a flick of Cor’s hand.

“Before we get started,” Cor said, standing in front of Merlin. When Arthur and Gwaine stumbled to their feet for the third time, he waved his hand again and sent them crashing to the ground. The sorcerer regarded Merlin, almost sadly, “Is there anything you’d like to tell your friends, in case this all goes wrong? About you? Famous last words, and all that.”

Merlin yanked on the ropes, and repeated, “You’ve got the –”

“Wrong person. Yes, we’ve covered that,” Cor said, “There’s really nothing else? Pity.”

And then he started chanting.

There was a rush of sound, and Cor was lowering the staff down, Merlin writhing desperately backwards, wrenching against his bonds to get away. The pulsating stone at the head of the staff lightly touched Merlin’s head. Everything stopped. Then, Merlin’s eyes – golden, not blue – flew open, and he screamed. Glass fractured. Wind sucked in and blew out and whirled around the courtyard. Lightening fell from an instantly black sky along with fire and ice. The earth shook and rocks rose to join the whirlwind of elements.  
Arthur could do nothing, and he hated himself for it. He could do nothing but hold on to his bit of rail and trough as Merlin’s agony lifted him off his feet. He could feel Merlin’s screams in his bones, rattling and echoing and forcing their way into Arthur’s nightmares. Veins of golden light spiderwebbed detailed paths like a broken mirror through the flux of magic that filled the air, all spiraling out from where Merlin screamed. Later, Arthur would come to the conclusion that Merlin had brought the very sky crashing down upon them.

There was the sound of something shattering, something ancient and new and powerful and fragile, and Arthur crashed back down onto the cobblestones. Next to him, Gwaine grunted as Gwen landed heavily on top of him. Arthur looked up, and he was certain that the sight that greeted him would haunt him until the day he died.  
Cor, holding the staff that was now alive with pulsating golden light, standing tall. Merlin, hanging limply from his bonds, with his head down and blood dripping to the ground from his nose.

“I’ve done it,” Cor said, smiling dumbly, “I’ve done it!”

Then he backhanded Merlin roughly. The warlock’s head whipped back with no resistance, bouncing off one of the wooden posts. Merlin didn’t make a sound.

Arthur saw red. He sprang forward, ready to throttle the sorcerer with his bare hands. Gwaine was half a step behind him, growling like an angered bear. Cor raised the staff, and the cobblestones surged upwards like a wave in the ocean, sending Arthur and Gwaine flying. They landed roughly, and Arthur couldn’t breathe for a moment, the wind knocked out of him.

With the chuckle of a mad man, Cor said, “All the powers of Emrys…mine! Mine!”

Then, he turned his attention back to Merlin.

Cor leaned over Merlin’s unconscious form. “Now, now,” he said, mad laughter bubbling from his chest, “Now I must finish the thing!”

He began to chant, pulling a long dagger from his belt and yanking Merlin’s head back, still as death. Arthur struggled to stand, but the stones seemed to grow fingers, gripping him and holding him down. Gwaine swore somewhere to his right, and forced Arthur to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do. Every part of him, mind and soul, brain and heart, was screaming move, stop him, Merlin, save Merlin, magic, ohgodohgod, movemovemove but no matter what, Arthur couldn’t rise. Gwaine bellowed wordlessly in frustration.

“Mighty Emrys,” Cor crowed, laying the blade across Merlin’s bared throat, “Time to die.”

“Hey!”

A woman’s shoe flew out, and with frightening precision, slammed the side of Cor’s head. The dagger fell to the ground with a clatter, but the sorcerer kept a tight grip on the staff, staggering back in surprise from Merlin. Arthur froze, and turned his head to his left.

Gwen, clutching her other shoe in her hand, glared at Cor with murder in her eyes. “You will not touch him again,” she said.


	4. Chapter 4

Gwen, somehow, had managed to stay standing throughout the maelstrom. She stood, barefooted and terrified, and so very brave. Arthur could see the white knuckle grip she had on her shoe. He could see the way her lips pressed together in a hard line. Arthur struggled anew against the stony hands holding him down.

“How dare you,” Cor said, and the anger melted away, and he laughed, an even scarier tone, “You are brave, little one, but it will cost you your life.”

Gwen took a deep, shaking breath, and began to walk towards the sorcerer. “Gwen, no!” Arthur yelled, “Guinevere! Stop!”

“Listen to your prince, Guinevere,” Cor said, a slight sing-song lilting in his words, “Step away. This does not concern you.”

Gwen continued forward. Cor stumbled back, apparently to shocked to do anything. She stopped when she stood in front of Merlin, and stared at Cor. When she spoke, there was winter and iron in her voice, “You have taken me from my home, and endangered my friends,” she said, “You have tortured Merlin, one of the kindest, most wonderful…It concerns me, you foul monster.”

“Stand aside,” Cor repeated.

“Gwen!” Arthur bellowed.

Gwen swallowed, and said, “No.”

“Fine,” Cor snarled, and raised the staff, “On your head be it.”

Lightening flew from the pulsating, glowing staff, straight for Gwen and Merlin. Gwen screamed, and threw herself in front of the bound warlock, wrapping her arms around his neck and covering his body with hers. The lightening slammed straight into her, sending dust and smoke flying and making it utterly impossible to see what was happening.

“No!” Arthur yelled, and his heart all but leaped from his chest. He stared, too scared to blink, too grief stricken, hoping, praying, wishing for some silly and stupid miracle to happen. The smoke began to clear. He couldn’t believe his eyes at the sight that appeared - Gwen, clinging to Merlin, shaking like flower in a windstorm. Still standing, still protecting, still living.

“I…I don’t understand,” Cor was muttering, staring at the staff, “I have Emrys. I have him. Why are they not…how?”

“There is breath in him yet,” Gwen said, her voice small but steely. She continued to cling to the front of Merlin’s shirt. Both of their clothes were singed and blackened, Gwen’s curls floating in the breeze and Merlin’s face covered in ash. She glanced upwards at the sorcerer, “And you cannot have him.”

Cor, apparently unready to deal with such a development, howled wordlessly and vanished with a loud bang.

Arthur pushed himself to his feet immediately, the stones’ granite fingers disappearing back down into the floor.

He and Gwaine both dashed on unsteady legs to where Gwen stood, Merlin’s forehead leaning against hers. “Cut him down,” she whispered, eyes shut, crying quietly. All of the fight had drained out of her, and she looked like she may fall at any moment, “For God’s sake, cut him down.”

She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a rumpled and stained bit of fabric, and pressed it to Merlin’s bleeding nose. Distantly, Arthur realized it was Merlin’s neckerchief. Staring, Arthur couldn’t move. He couldn’t make his feet walk forward. Gwaine, however, jumped forward and began to saw at the ropes with gusto, using Cor’s dropped dagger. Arthur swallowed thickly, “Is he…?”

He couldn’t finish the question. Gwen, cupping a hand to Merlin’s cheek and still not moving, said, “As I said, there is breath in him yet. B-but he won’t wake up.”

Of course, that was the point where they were all brutally reminded of the fact that they hadn’t been alone in the courtyard. Luckily for them, Thom and his bandits had been equally stunned, which had given the three prisoners time to get Merlin free. However, they’d now regained their wits, and were less than pleased.

“He didn’t pay us!” Thom yelled, “That cheating scum didn’t pay us!”

And then his gaze landed on the center of the courtyard, eyes narrowing. Arthur grabbed at his belt, searching for a sword hilt that wasn’t there. “Gwaine,” Arthur said, “Get Guinevere and Merlin to safety.”

“Already on it,” Gwaine answered, throwing the unconscious boy over his shoulder and grabbing Gwen’s wrist.

She pulled away from him sharply, and called to Arthur, “I’m not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are,” Gwaine said.

Arthur nodded, “Gwen, go, please. I’ll be alright.”

She hesitated, and then allowed Gwaine to pull her from the courtyard, and out of the gate.

Arthur watched them go, and then, finding himself quite out of options, surveyed his competition. There was Thom, plus three wielding swords, two with clubs, and two on the walls with crossbows. That made it eight on one. “Well, then,” Arthur muttered, “Right where I want them.”

Then, he charged.

\--

Lancelot, while circling the castle, had found an entrance near the back that was unguarded. He had circled back around to tell Arthur of this, but when he returned there was no prince to be seen. Lancelot could only assume that he was still surveying his half of the castle. Two minutes later, and he began to get concerned. One minute after that, and he was anxious. Not thirty seconds later, Lancelot had come to the conclusion that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong and that if he, being Lancelot, didn’t take action soon, then something even worse would happen and everyone, being all of Camelot, would know that it was his fault.

It was then that something distracted the guards on the walls, and they left their posts. Lancelot paused – was this really going to be this easy? Was he really just going to saunter in through the front door? No. That was ridiculous. He was going to run, half crouched and bent with his sword drawn in through the front door.

Of course, it was as he was approaching the gate that the sky seemed to suddenly close in on him, grabbing him and tossing him into the air and throwing him all of the way back into the trees. His head smacked the ground, and Lancelot saw stars. It felt like a thousand pounds were pressing against his back, pinning him to the ground. Distantly, someone was screaming.

Then, it stopped. He pushed himself to his feet, staggering only for a moment, and turned to look at the castle again. He ran forward, remembering that feeling of something awful going to have happened, and could only conclude that it had. And, thinking back on the terrible force that had sent him flying, Lancelot assumed that something awful had happened to Merlin. There were bandits fleeing from the castle, pushing past him, yelling things like, “I don’t care how much we’re gettin’, s’not worth this!”

They were in such a hurry they left their horses behind. Four of them, actually, all fully tacked. It was too big of an opportunity to miss. After all, Gwen could always ride double with Arthur, or Lancelot. But she’d probably go with Arthur. Then again…

It took a moment to calm them – whatever it was that happened before had spooked the animals. But by the time Lancelot had gathered all four, there was suddenly someone shouting his name. Lancelot looked up to find Gwaine and Guinevere running towards him. Gwaine had Merlin thrown over his shoulder.

“Where have you been?!” Gwaine snapped as they came up to him.

“I’ve been on my way,” Lancelot said back, “But then I saw the horses, and – what’s wrong with Merlin?”

“Long story, mate,” Gwaine said, “But right now, Arthur is currently fighting a castle full of bandits, so let’s deal with that first.”

“What?”

“Arthur. Castle,” Gwaine said, shoving the limp Merlin onto a horse, “I’ll stay with them, you go and find him.”

This ended with Arthur and Lancelot, pressed back to back, swords out and whirling. As most of the bandits had fled, it was actually not the worst odds that Lancelot had ever had stacked against him. It was only a matter of time – and jabbing, cutting, and stabbing – until Arthur and Lancelot were sprinting back to the horses, the remaining bandits deeming them unworthy of pursuing.

On the ride back to Camelot, every snapping twig was the bandits creeping up on them. Lancelot thought he may go mad from the stress of it. Gwen, in small sentences punctuated by tears, told what had happened since she, Merlin, and Gwaine had left the city walls.

“And they…Merlin, I just…” she broke off into a sob, “They thought he was…was Emrys or someone, and now…” she was crying too hard to speak. Lancelot wanted to reign in his horse, pull Gwen from hers, and hold her in his arms until she calmed. He didn’t, of course, and waited for Gwen to continue. She didn’t. Lancelot didn’t necessarily need her too, though. He could fill in the blanks well enough on his own, and it all added up to Arthur knowing about Merlin’s magic.

It made Lancelot sick to think about.

Gwaine, for his part, uttered not a word. Merlin sat in front of him, limp and dangling as a corpse. From time to time, Lancelot watched as Gwaine would reach forward, snag Merlin’s wrist, and check for a pulse. Then, Gwaine would breathe a small sigh in relief, followed by an answering chorus of sighs from Lancelot and Gwen.  
Arthur rode ahead of them. 

He didn’t look back, not once.

\--

Upon galloping into the courtyard of Camelot, Arthur had a servant running to fetch Gaius before he was even off his horse. It surprised Gwaine, in a vague sort of way. After all, he had taken Arthur’s silence the entire ride back as a harbinger of bad things for Merlin. He spent no more time in thinking about it, though, because had bigger problems to deal with than Arthur’s mood swings.

Namely, Merlin.

His friend hadn’t stirred. Gwaine was sick just thinking about it. He pulled Merlin down off of the horse, and began to walk up the stairs, moving slowly to avoid jostling the younger man any more than necessary. Leon, Percival and Elyan on either side of him, came jogging down the stairs. Arthur, upon seeing the knights, spoke for the first time that evening. “All’s well here?”

“The king knows naught of your absence,” Leon said, and Gwaine could feel the older knight’s eyes following him up to the castle, “What’s happened to the boy?”

“He’s…”

“They knew he was Arthur’s servant,” Gwen said from where she stood with Elyan’s arm about her shoulders. She hugged herself tightly, and said, “So they went after him the most.”

Gwaine was impressed. It was a decent lie, thought up on the spot. But then he was in the door and around the corner, all the conversations drifting away. It wasn’t long before Gwen and Lancelot, and even Arthur, had caught up and followed him through the castle. “I can take him,” Arthur said suddenly, “If your arms are tired. You must be sore.”

“I have him.”

“I only meant –”

“I said,” Gwaine growled, “I have him.”

Gwaine didn’t know what Arthur planned on doing with Merlin. He didn’t want to find out, not yet. When they reached Gaius’s room, the physician was waiting for them. “Put him on the bed,” the physician said, “What happened?”

Gwen told most of it, with Gwaine interjecting details. Lancelot added in his and Arthur’s part in things at the end. For the most part, Gaius didn’t react, save to grow paler and graver with every word. At the end of the tale, Arthur abruptly stood and swept from the room. Lancelot followed him almost instantly. Gwen fetched a few bottles from Gaius, and then was ordered to return to her chambers to sleep.

That left Gwaine and Gaius. “I tried,” Gwaine said, and the words were cheap and hollow, “I tried to stop it, Gaius, but –”

“No, don’t do that,” Gaius said, “I know you did everything in your power to help him. But there’s nothing for you to do here, now. Go and rest.”

Gwaine wanted to protest more, but before he could, Gaius turned around to tend to Merlin. “Oh, my boy,” Gaius muttered, bending over to quietly examine one of the bruises on Merlin’s face. Gwaine couldn’t look, and fled to the hall.

It felt like his heart was on fire. Every time he blinked the image of Merlin tied and screaming flashed out at him from the dark. Every action he’d taken over the last days replayed, again and again, never ending, all leaving Gwaine with a single conclusion – he should have protected Merlin better. Thinking of Merlin, quiet and still, in the room behind him, made his lungs constrict and the back of his eyes burn.

If this is what friendship did to you, then Gwaine thought it was stupid. Really stupid. Really fantastically stupid. When this was all over, he was going to make Merlin buy him an entire barrel of ale. Maybe two. Possibly three. Or maybe Gwaine would just hug the idiot. He’d sleep on it, and see how he felt in the morning.

His line of thought, however, was abruptly interrupted when he realized he was walking into a rather intense conversation between Lancelot and Arthur, the air burning between them with tension. 

“I am loyal to you, Arthur, and I have sworn my fealty to you,” Lancelot was saying, “But if you make certain decisions about him, I will be honor bound to take certain actions.”

Arthur looked at him, and then said, “Noted.”

Gwaine cleared his throat. They both whipped their heads around to stare at him. Arthur, without a word, pushed past Gwaine and back into Gaius’s rooms. Gwaine and Lancelot stood in silence, staring at each other and not speaking. Finally, Gwaine couldn’t take it anymore, cracked his neck, flipped his hair, and said, “Did you know about Merlin?”

“Did I know what about Merlin?” Lancelot said, and then narrowed his eyes, “Why? Did you know?”

“Depends,” Gwaine said, squinting a little, “On if what I know is the same as what you think you know.”

“Unless you think you know what I know, but you really don’t know,” Lancelot said.

“But I don’t think I know, I know I know. But what I need to know now is if you know what I know, because if you do know then there are some other things I know you need to know,” Gwaine said, “You know?”

“Yes. No. I mean,” Lancelot said, eyebrows drawing together, “What?”

\--

“Sire, perhaps you should go,” Gaius said lightly, from where he stood at Merlin’s side, “You look like you could use some rest yourself.”

“I’m staying,” Arthur said, shutting the door behind him. He was dizzy, and felt like he did after getting a concussion. Floating, not quite real.

“I’ve been informed as to the manner in which Merlin was attacked, there is nothing you will be able to do here.”

And it was suddenly clear to Arthur why Gaius was trying to get rid of him. “Are you going to use magic?” he asked.

Gaius flinched, like he’d been struck. “Of course not,” he said, “But all the same, you should –”

“Do not lie to me, Gaius!” Arthur snapped, and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I am done being lied to. I know about Merlin. I know. I know about the magic. I know that he’s been lying to me, I know that Gwaine and Lancelot have been lying for him, and that you have been lying. I am finished with it. I will have the truth.”

Gaius was quiet, staring at Arthur intensely, an eyebrow raised.

“You will tell me what’s wrong with Merlin, what the sorcerer did to him,” Arthur growled, “Now. And it is not a request.”

“From what you and the others have described,” Gaius said, slow, refusing to look at Merlin, sounding impossibly old, “It sounds as if this Cor sought to steal Merlin’s magic from him. But he’s misunderstood – Merlin does not have magic. The magic is a part of him, woven into his very being.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked.

“It is not a short story,” Gaius warned.

“Then you best start talking.”

And talk Gaius did. He told Arthur of many days, starting with the day that Merlin had come to Camelot. There were holes in his narratives, things the old man left out. Arthur wanted to call him on it, but didn’t. He was too busy listening to a tale about a boy from a small village, born to great powers and an even greater destiny. Finally – for Gaius hadn’t lied, it was a long story – Gaius finished, and waited for Arthur’s reaction.

“He was born with it,” Arthur said slowly, “He did not choose it. It…chose him?”

“Yes,” Gaius nodded, “And, clearly, Cor did not understand that.”

“How so?”

“By ripping Merlin’s magic from him, Cor was also…” Gaius paused, leaning heavily down on the table and closing his eyes for a moment. Arthur didn’t pressure the old physician, and merely waited for him to speak on his own accord. Eventually, Gaius did, “The magic is so entwined with Merlin, that when he ripped out the magic, he effectively ripped out Merlin’s soul with it. What we have here with us is a body, a shell, and nothing more.”

The sheer power of Gaius’s words sent Arthur’s knees weak, and he sat down heavily on a chair. He looked over to Merlin’s still form, where the only movement was the slight rise and fall of his chest. Arthur felt his heart stutter, and thought of the glowing staff. No, he corrected, not a staff, but Merlin’s spirit, his soul, his very being. Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, and thought of Merlin – loyal, clumsy, idiotic Merlin. Lying, sneaking, magic Merlin.

Really, in the end, there was only one thing for him to say.

“How do we fix it?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Fix it?” Gaius answered, and now looked as old as he had sounded, all bent over and wrinkled, “I don’t think that we can.”

“Of course we can,” Arthur answered, wishing he was as confident as his words, “We just…we need to figure out how. Think, Gaius. You’re the closest we have to an expert.”

Gaius stared stonily at Arthur for several minutes. Each one felt like an eternity to the prince. “Well,” Gaius finally said, “I suppose we would have to start with getting Merlin back.”

“The staff?”

“The staff,” Gaius confirmed with a nod, “After that…well. We need the staff if we’re going to begin to do anything.”

“Very well,” Arthur said, “I’ll get you the staff. By the time I return, I fully expect you to have a way of sorting Merlin out.” Even as he was speaking the words, Arthur wondered how in the world he was even going to begin such an undertaking.

“Sire, if I may,” Gaius said, “First, you really must rest. You will not do Merlin or yourself any good if you kill yourself with exhaustion.”

Arthur nodded tiredly. He looked over at Merlin one last time, and then walked to the door, but before he could leave Gaius called, “Prince Arthur.”

“Yes?” Arthur said, turning to look at the physician.

“What are you going to do about Merlin?”

And there was the question that everyone was demanding an answer to. Lancelot had cornered Arthur in the hall to tell the prince, in a series of innuendoes and inferences that he’d known about Merlin’s magic as long as he’d known Arthur, and that he owed his life to Merlin at least thrice over. “I don’t know,” Arthur said honestly, “But I can’t accuse someone who can’t even speak in their own defense.”

Then, he left the room, not looking Gaius in the eyes. He was unsurprised to find Gwaine sitting in the corridor just outside of Gaius’s room. “Sire,” the knight said, standing, “Can you spare a moment?”

“Yes, actually, I needed to speak with you as –”

“Permission to speak freely,” Gwaine interrupted, and after hesitating a moment, added, “Sire.”

Arthur couldn’t remember Gwaine ever addressing him as ‘sire’ without some sort of sarcasm or underlying motive. “Always,” Arthur said, “I needed to talk to you first, though. Gaius says that –”

“What are you planning to do with Merlin?”

“I was just about to tell you,” Arthur said, “Gaius said that his soul’s gone too, in that staff, and we need –”

“I don’t mean about that,” Gwaine said, no emotions in his face or eyes, shoulders tense, “I mean…about Merlin.”

“I think, Sir Gwaine,” Arthur said, emphasizing the knight’s title, “That it would be best if you just said whatever is on your mind.”

“I will stand behind you,” Gwaine said, “I will to ride into battle and die for you. Order me to run naked through the kingdom, and Lord knows that I’ll do that too. I’m a knight of Camelot, and I will not follow any man’s orders but your own. But there’s something you must understand, Prince Arthur. If you do anything to put Merlin in danger, I will do whatever is necessary to keep him safe.”

Arthur blinked once. Then again. He opened his mouth to ask when it was, exactly, that all of his knights swore allegiance to Merlin, but instead said, “You knew about the magic.”

“Of course I did,” Gwaine answered, “So did you, I think, but you wouldn’t admit it.”

Rage bubbled up a little in Arthur’s chest. “Do you really think that I would have let him in the castle had I known?”

“Oh, c’mon, Arthur,” Gwaine said, not backing down, “Courage, strength, and magic. If the wee bridge keeper said it to us, he had to have mentioned it to you. And how often have you, Merlin, and the knights rode off somewhere, and no one came back but you and Merlin? How many of those times did you get knocked out and to wake to Merlin telling you what happened? And, on that note, how is it that Merlin’s managed to not even get scratched, when he’s never in armor?”

All of those things happened all too often, actually. Arthur’s mind shied away from it, automatically, and he wondered if Gwaine had a point. But, Arthur was exhausted. He was confused and his head hurt. There was also the fact that everyone seemed to think that he was going to kill Merlin, and that really did little to help his mood. He said nothing, and just stared back at Gwaine.

“And remember, Jarl’s castle? The fire was convenient, wasn’t it? I’d say it was almost like magic. And when Morgana’s army took the city, do you really think that Lancelot and Merlin between them wouldn’t have been able to take out the warning bell?”

“I know, Gwaine, I know,” Arthur snapped, “I’ve been blind and a fool for not seeing it. But he has lied straight to my face for years. How could I ever trust him again?”

“I can’t say that I blame you,” Gwaine said, “But before you decide what you’re going to do with our Merlin, think about this – how many times have you been on the brink of death, alone save for Merlin, only to come back and make a miracle recovery? Just how often is it that you find Camelot about to tumble into oblivion, just for Merlin and Gaius to find a miracle answer? Merlin’s lied to us, yes. But remember that he had good reason to, and that he could’ve left at any point he wanted, but he stayed with us. Stayed with you. You’re quick to think of the wrongs done to you, but consider the wrongs that Merlin’s probably had to endure in silence, with no one to tell.”

Arthur really had no answer to that.

Gwaine stretched, his bones cracking loudly. “Now, then, any more of this talk and we’ll be women enough to wear skirts. And unlike our Sir Leon, I don’t fancy that prospect. So, onto other things,” he said, “What was that before about Merlin’s soul?”

Arthur filled in Gwaine on all the details of what Gaius had told him. For his part, the knight seemed to just take it in stride. “But we can’t really do anything until morning,” Arthur said, “I don’t know how we’re going to find Cor, let alone get the staff.”

Gwaine hummed, and nodded, “I’ve actually been thinking about that,” he said, “Cor wanted to kill Merlin before, didn’t he? So it’s really only a matter of time before he comes looking for him.”

“Are you suggesting that we use Merlin as bait, Gwaine?” 

“You say that like I want to truss him up like a turkey, toss him in the woods, and wait behind a tree with a net,” Gwaine said, “All that I’m saying is that this isn’t over, not by a long shot. We’ve got to keep Merlin alive.”

“What is that you’re suggesting, then?”

“While you’re looking for Cor, I’d like to stay here. With Merlin,” Gwaine said, “To make sure that nothing goes wrong. Or, more wrong.”

Arthur nodded. “But do get some rest, Gwaine,” Arthur said, as he walked a few steps away, “You’re no use to anyone exhausted.”

And Arthur left, off to his chambers to try and follow his own advice. But as he laid in his bed and stared at the canopy above him, every time he started to drift away an echo of Merlin screaming would jolt him awake. Finally, with a frustrated groan, Arthur pulled on his shirt and began to walk around the castle grounds. As his feet led him outside, he leaned against a parapet and stared down at the silent town below him. Arthur tried to force his thoughts into some semblance of order as the moon slowly crept across the sky.

After a while – Arthur didn’t know the exact amount of time – Gwen leaned against the wall next to him. “You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he said.

“I could say the same to you,” she said, “Why aren’t you?”

“Bad dreams,” he answered, “You?”

“The same,” Gwen said, and they lapsed into silence. Neither bothered to ask what the subjects of their nighttime visions were.

“Did…” Arthur said, and trailed off, clearing his throat before continuing, “Did you know?”

“I only found out when the bandits took us,” Gwen said, “And, God, Arthur, when I found out I didn’t know what to do. I was confused, and I was scared, and I was betrayed. Mostly, though, I was angry. I was so, so angry that I could barely even process it.”

Arthur nodded. It was very, very similar to what was racing through his head. Eerily so.

“I’m still angry,” she said, “But not at Merlin. Not anymore. I started to…I think Merlin’s the one who healed my father, during the plague. And I’m almost certain he’s that old sorcerer who took the blame for the poultices, remember him?”

Again, Arthur nodded, not trusting his voice. He thought about chasing the old man around the corner to find Merlin, blinking and dazed, staring at him. The old man’s eyes, familiar and blue. Oh, I have heard how you... mistreat your servants. They do everything for you, but do they ever get any thanks? No! You are a spoilt, arrogant brat with the brains of a donkey and the face of a toad! Of course it was Merlin. Arthur couldn’t see how he’d managed to miss it.

But Gwen was pressing on again, “What makes me angry is us, Arthur. You and I, and everyone else. Merlin has risked everything for us – his life, his freedom, his very self.”

“I suppose,” Arthur said to her, “You’re now going to tell me that if I hand Merlin over to my father, you’ll mutiny with the rest.”

“No,” she said.

“Why not?”

“A few reasons,” Gwen said, “The main one being that you’re not going to turn Merlin in, so I won’t be forced into that choice.”

“How do you know that?” Arthur said. He didn’t even know that, not for sure, and Gwen sounded so confident.

“Because,” she said, “You’re having bad dreams.”

“What happened today,” Arthur said, “Anyone would be disturbed by it. You’re –”

The crash was loud, almost deafening. The castle shook. Arthur lashed out and clutched Gwen, keeping them both on their feet. He thanked the Lord that he’d taken his sword with him when he left his chambers. There was another loud bang, then silence. Smoke was curling up from the tower that Gaius lived in. 

“Do you think that was…?” Gwen said, trailing off.

Drawing his sword and keeping Gwen close, Arthur began to walk forward. He didn’t answer Gwen. Again, they both already knew what that answer would be. As they went, Leon came sprinting around the corner, sword also in hand. “Sire,” Leon said, “There’s a sorcerer attacking. He showed up and almost killed Gaius and Merlin, but Gwaine got them out in time. What do you wish me to –”

“We are aware, Sir Leon, and handling it,” Arthur answered immediately, “But right now, I need you to keep my father from interfering. Keep him safe. Is that clear? Take Percival and Elyan with you.”

Arthur reached over, and pushed Gwen after him. “Go, stay safe,” he said.

“Where are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try and fix this,” he said, “But promise me, Gwen, promise me you’ll stay safe. No more jumping in front of lightning bolts.”

She smiled sadly, and then ran to catch up with Leon.

Arthur began to sprint up towards Gaius’s rooms. Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps running towards him. Arthur threw himself into an alcove, just for Gwaine to go flying by. Now he had Merlin on his back like a child. Arthur almost jumped out to grab him, but a blast of pure, golden energy slammed into the wall, just inches from the knight and unconscious Merlin. Gwaine stumbled, and almost fell, whirling to face his attacker. A wordless howl of rage echoed, then.

“You will give me Emrys!” Cor’s voice, now cracking and high. He advanced on Gwaine, moving straight in front of Arthur and stopping. Arthur held his breath, pressing himself as far back into the shadows as he could, staring at Cor. The sorcerer’s clothes were now torn, dirtied. Any doubts that Arthur had about Cor being mad flew away at one glance at Cor’s face. His mouth was twisted into an ugly grimace, the white’s of his eyes turned completely red and bloodshot. Arthur’s eyes locked on the staff, brilliantly gold and shining. He continued, “You will hand him over now!”

“Yeah,” Gwaine said, “I’m going to go with no.”

Cor didn’t seem to like that very much, and sent another bolt of energy towards Gwaine. Again, the blast veered off course and missed the knight.

“I will burn the Pendragon legacy to the ground. I will set the flame to your city and watch it fall to ashes,” Cor said, and Arthur tensed, ready to spring, “I have taken charge of magic! I will lead it on to victory! But I was…I was interrupted.”

Gwaine shuffled backwards, keeping himself between Cor and Merlin.

“It won’t work for me,” Cor said, clutching the staff tighter, “It has power, yes, so much power, dripping with it and pounding with it, always pounding, pounding. But it will not do what I wish, no, no. Not while Emrys lives, he must die, I must finish it, now, now!”

Cor raised the staff, pointing it at Gwaine and, in effect, the soulless body of Merlin. Arthur took the opportunity to spring from the alcove, slamming into the sorcerer. Cor was taken too much by surprise to react, and with a screech smashed to the ground, Arthur on top of him.

“Gwaine!” Arthur roared, pinning Cor down, “Get him out of here!”

Gwaine didn’t need to be told twice, and sprinted away and around the corner, Merlin’s arms flapping like banners in his wake. Arthur watched them go, but he was jolted out of his reverie by a force slamming into his chest and sending him flying off of Cor. His head slammed against the wall, and Arthur’s visions danced with white sparks.

By the time he’d gathered his wits again, Cor was gone, traipsing down the corridor in the direction Gwaine had gone. Arthur, with a snarl, pushed himself to his feet and hurtled after him. A hand flew from a door, and grabbed his arm, yanking him in. Lancelot stood there, Gwen next to him. Arthur, for a moment, wondered what they had been doing together, in a closet, all alone. Instead, he looked at Gwen and said, “I thought I told you to go with Leon.”

“You did,” she answered, “Then I chose not to.”

“But –”

“She’s here, now,” Lancelot said, “That’s all that matters. We have a plan.”

“We do?” Gwen asked, before Arthur could.

Lancelot said, “Well, I have a plan.”

He proceeded to tell them both. “After all,” Lancelot said, concluding his scheme, “It’s still Merlin in there. I figure it’s worth a shot.”

At first, Arthur was skeptical. Then, he realized that he didn’t have anything to lose, or a better plan, or really any plan at all. He thought of Cor’s words, of how Merlin’s magic was refusing to work for the sorcerer. He thought of the way that the magic never actually hit any of them, not directly. “Fine,” he said, “But I think it has to be me, don’t you?”

A shock ran through the stones of the castle again. All three of them flinched.

“And,” Arthur said, “I think it has to be now.”

He sprang from the closet, and again sprinted down the hall. Lancelot was behind him, and Gwen behind him. They followed the sounds of the blasts straight to the heart of the castle, and into the throne room. Gwaine was hunkered behind the throne, Merlin clutched to his chest, as Cor chanted. A wind, frigid and foreboding, was swirling around the stones. Arthur took a deep breath, hesitated for half of a second – do I want to do this? Do I want to defend him? – and then started forward.

“Wait, no, Arthur,” Gwen said, trying to grab his arm and missing it completely, “Maybe we should reconsider –”

Arthur walked to the center of the room. Cor turned his head and grinned a terrible, insane smile at him. The wind intensified.

“Merlin,” Arthur snapped, “Stop it. _Now._ ”

The wind, as abruptly as it had started, disappeared.


	6. Chapter 6

“What?” Cor screeched, “No!”

Arthur was just as thrown – he hadn’t actually thought that Lancelot’s half-baked scheme would work. He shook himself slightly, and then said, “Gwaine.”

The knight was already up again, throwing Merlin over his shoulder again. “Get him out of here, I know, I know,” he said, jogging out the side door, “Good God, Merlin, you’re heavier than you look.”

Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this gleeful, and smiled. Probably when he’d made Merlin wear that ridiculous hat. Of course, that sent him thinking about what had happened shortly after he’d made Merlin wear the hat, and the smile dropped from his face.

“You’ve been meddling in things you don’t understand,” Arthur said, “Want to know why your fancy stick isn’t working? When you attacked Merlin, you didn’t just take his magic. Oh, no, you stole everything. You’ve his soul in there, did you realize? And that means you have his personality, everything that makes him Merlin.”

Cor just stared at him.

“And that means you have loyalty in there,” Arthur said, “You have terrible aim, which knowing Merlin, isn’t terribly surprising. You have a tendency towards lying, too, which I’ve only just learned.”

Now, Cor’s face slowly pulled in to a terrible snarl. And, was it just Arthur, or did the glow around the staff diminish slightly? Ignoring that, he pressed on, and with every word he spoke the glow brightened just a little more.

“Merlin once promised me he would be my servant until the day he died,” Arthur said, “And I intend to hold him to that.”

Mad, frantic laughter bubbled out of Cor, his bloodshot eyes growing watery. It did little to improve his overall appearance. “You idiot,” the sorcerer hissed, “That day is today.”

He raised the staff, and Arthur barked out, “Merlin, don’t you dare!”

That’s when things started to go very, very wrong, all at one time.

First, the stone set on the top of the staff shattered, the pieces flying in all directions. Arthur threw his hands into the air to shield his face. Cor, who had been standing in the center of the room, again decided that whatever was happening was too much to handle, and vanished in a puff of smoke. The wood of the staff screamed, and then exploded in the same way the stone did. Then, it was over.

Arthur dropped his arms, and found the room to be covered in a soft, blue light. He looked to the center of the room where the staff had once stood. There was now an orb, the diameter the size of a banquet plate, silver fire winding in slow and undulating circles inside of it. There were fiery vines of gold and blue twisting and dancing around the outside of the sphere. 

“It’s…beautiful,” Gwen said, the light reflecting in her dark eyes as she and Lancelot cautiously approached.

“Is that…?” Lancelot said, trailing away.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed. His mind had flown away to three years ago, to fleeing through a dark cave from spiders, a flower clutched in a sweating hand, following nothing but a sphere of blue light. One that had looked remarkably like this one. Of course, Arthur thought, of course it had been Merlin. It was always Merlin, all the time.

The orb flared slightly larger at the mention of the name, but dipped further towards the floor.

“Now what?” Gwen whispered.

“I don’t know,” Arthur answered, voice just as quiet, “Lancelot?”

“I haven’t the slightest,” the knight said.  
The orb – Merlin –continued to drop towards the floor, slowly shrinking. “Something’s wrong,” Arthur said, a sharp jolt in his chest, “Something’s not –”

“I think he’s dying,” Gwen said, and the panic laced her voice, “He’s just blowing away. What do we do?”

Arthur could feel the similar panic, watching as the blue glow dimmed further and further. He groaned, finally, “The things I do for you, Merlin,” and then, looking away from the sphere, said, “Gwen, if this doesn’t work, then…I don’t know, go and find the knights. Lancelot, make sure she’s safe. Stop Cor. Find Gwaine and Gaius. Don’t die.”

“Arthur, what –”

Reaching forward, Arthur plunged his hands straight into the center of the floating orb, straight into the heart of Merlin’s very soul.

A warm draft sent his hair dancing around in his face. Heat crept up Arthur’s arms, golden light dancing over his skin. The warmth stopped at his elbows, questioning and hesitating. Uncertainty poked at the edge of Arthur’s mind, and Merlin’s voice, distant and echoing, murmured in his ears. _Ar…thur?_

And Arthur, just as perplexed, said, “Merlin?”

_I…I can’t…he…lp?_

“I’m trying.”

_Can’t…not you, could get hurt…_

“If you don’t, you’ll die,” Arthur said. Gwen and Lancelot exchanged a flabbergasted expression which Arthur may’ve laughed at, if not for the fact he was otherwise preoccupied.

The golden light creeped up to his shoulders. Arthur’s heart hammered, and it felt like great gusts of wind were rushing past his ears. _But…_

Oh, Merlin. Arthur longed to throw something at him. “Merlin,” he said, and Gwen’s eyes grew wide, “If you don’t get in my head, right now, we will have a powerful sorcerer burn Camelot to the ground and very few ways to stop him. Is that what you want?”

The dancing light, with an apprehensive and annoyed sigh, engulfed him. Arthur couldn’t breathe. Memories and thoughts that were so definitely not his flashed through his mind, an undercurrent of protectprotectprotect surrounding most of them. It felt like the ocean running through his head, strong and misty and thundering. And the magic. It was fire that ran through his veins, raw power. Arthur felt himself tipping backward while the magic ran through him. He felt he could crumble empires, obliterate his enemies, bring a mountain to its knees and watch the world burn. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and overwhelming.

My God, he thought, is this how Merlin feels all the time?

And then he was laying on the ground, his head heavier than Arthur could ever remember it feeling. He could still feel that raw power thrumming just under his skin, but it wasn’t overpowering him anymore. Gwen hovered somewhere above him, calling his name. Lancelot was gripping his shoulder. Arthur forced his eyes open to see them both leaning over him, anxiety lining both of their faces.

“Oh, my head,” he muttered.

 _Sorry,_ Merlin’s voice whispered. It sounded like the warlock was right next to him, chattering in his ear. But at the same time, it felt as if Arthur was thinking Merlin’s words himself. _I tried not to hurt you._

“I don’t think you did,” Arthur said, “It’s just…you’re heavy. How are you so heavy? You’re too skinny to be this heavy.”

_But…that’s my body. It’s probably my magic. I have a lot of that._

Arthur felt the magic welling up in him again as he thought about it. He closed his eyes as Merlin shoved it down. “I think you’re making excuses,” Arthur said, feeling dizzy and slightly giddy, “I think you’re actually the fat one, and you’ve just been projecting your issues on me.”

“Arthur?” Gwen squeaked. He looked up at her, still content to lie with his head supported by the floor. She was looking at him like she doubted his sanity, “Who’re you talking to?”

Lancelot, however, had apparently caught on, and answered, “I think he’s talking to…Merlin.”

 _You’re the one with the fat head_ , Merlin retorted, and Arthur smirked a smirk that wasn’t quite his own, _and the fact that I fit in here proves it._

“Stop talking, Merlin, I can’t concentrate.”

A spike of annoyed fondness shot through Arthur’s mind. _Prat. You said something about Camelot burning. Maybe we should try and sit up? You know, so that we can do something about that?_

“Gwen, Lancelot,” Arthur said, and she jumped in surprise, “We need you to help us sit up.”

Gwen’s already wide eyes turned into perfect circles. “We?” she said, “Us?”

“Yes, we, us, Merlin and I,” Arthur said, “He’s in my, uh, my me, I suppose.”

Gwen’s hands shook as she steered Arthur into a sitting position. Lancelot was much more calm, keeping a steady hand on Arthur’s shoulder and staring at him intently. A memory – Merlin’s, Arthur assumed – flashed, Lancelot staring at him, saying ‘You’re the bravest of us all, and he doesn’t even know it’. But as quick as the memory was there, it was gone again.

His head lolled about, still feeling impossibly heavy. Merlin was stirring again, shifting around, _I want to try something._ Then he pushed to the front of Arthur’s mind, settling somewhere behind Arthur’s forehead.

“Gwen,” he said, in Merlin’s voice, “Is the spell working?”

Gwen froze. Arthur hadn’t realized that eyes could get that wide. Then, she nodded, and said, “Not even lightening could touch me. H-how…?”

Merlin washed backwards, and Arthur blinked.

“Merlin?” Lancelot said.

“No, sorry, me again,” Arthur said, his voice his once again. He lifted his head up, and for the first time in his life, was able to feel the weight of his own mind. But he was adjusting, and he smiled slightly at Gwen, “Could you go and find Gaius? Take Lancelot with you, in case of trouble.”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own?”

“I’m not alone, Gwen,” Arthur growled, “I’ve got an all powerful idiot in my head.”

Gwen stuttered something out, and Arthur glared with one eye while Merlin smiled with the other and probably only managed to look complete deranged, and she fled the room. Lancelot, glancing once over his shoulder, hurried after her. Arthur had a moment, after they’d left, where he seriously regretted sending the two of them alone.

 _Don’t be ridiculous_ , Merlin said, _Lancelot’s too much of a knight to try anything. And Gwen loves you._

Arthur ignored him. “Shall we stand?”

_After you._

Arthur staggered to his feet, swaying a little. He tried to step forward, and began to topple. A chair slid, completely on its own, for him to lean on the back of. No, he realized belatedly, there was that heat again, and then the chair had moved.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, “If your soul’s in here, and your magic is part of that, does that mean I can use your magic? Is that what just happened?”

 _I don’t know,_ Merlin said, and then a series of words in a language Arthur didn’t know but somehow understood sliced through his thoughts. Merlin stirred thoughtfully. _It might be dangerous for you._

“But could I?”

Merlin didn’t want to answer, Arthur felt it. But at the same time, he thought the answer, because apparently it was fairly difficult to lie when sharing one’s head.

“How do I use it?”

 _Don’t, let me._ Merlin’s consciousness surged forward, and Arthur felt his arm raise. The same heat that had crept up his arms flared behind his eyes, and Arthur caught his reflection in the mirror. As the candle flames floated up into the air, Arthur watched as his eyes flared gold. The flames drifted back to their wicks, and his eyes turned blue again. Merlin drifted back into his place at the back of Arthur’s mind.

“I just used magic,” Arthur breathed, and he laughed. He couldn’t be sure if it was his or Merlin’s, though, “Why did you have to, though?”

 _It takes a bit of practice,_ Merlin answered, _I didn’t want you to accidently blow down a wall or knock down the castle._

“Can you do that?”

Again, Merlin didn’t answer. Again, though, Arthur didn’t need him to. The memory of lightening over a fog covered island, rain and ash, protectprotectprotect, flashed through his mind.

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Arthur said, switching topics quickly. Merlin was relieved, and sighed slightly. Arthur continued, “But this means that we can go after Cor, right?”

_What, now?_

“Yes, Merlin. Now,” Arthur answered, and began to walk towards the door. With every dragging step, he became more accustomed to the weight of Merlin, “No time like the present.”

And Merlin, for his part, didn’t protest any longer. He did, however, grumble for a while as Arthur walked them – staggered was more appropriate, really, as every now and again their (his) head would pitch forward and they (he? Whatever.) would veer suddenly off course – through the castle. Arthur really had no definitive plan, save for stop the evil sorcerer from burning down the castle, preferably without his father finding out about it.

As it turned out, it was easier than he thought it would be. Head flopping off to the right, Arthur found himself almost falling over as they – he – lurched outside and into the courtyard. Cor stood there, pointing magnanimously and sending the windows shattering down from the castle. Arthur sighed inwardly. It had taken weeks for those to be repaired after Morgana’s attack, and now here was another sorcerer sending them flying without a second thought.

At his sigh, Cor whipped around and stared at him. The man’s eyes were still bloodshot, his skin pale and haggard. “Prince Arthur, here to defend the kingdom on his own,” Cor said, and then the man’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “But not on your own, not really. You’ve broken something of mine, broken it and stolen it.”

 _Arthur, maybe I should take over,_ Merlin said. Arthur could feel something in his chest unwinding and coiling like a great serpent. Arthur pushed him back. Merlin hissed in annoyance. “He was never yours,” Arthur answered, “If anyone’s the thief here, it’s you.”

And then, like a curse and a prayer, Cor said, “Emrys.”

The magic running relays in Arthur tensed, thrummed, and drummed with attention. Arthur felt Merlin surge forward again, and this time Arthur let him through. Arthur was struck by the thought that maybe there were actually three beings in his head. Arthur, Merlin, Emrys. But then, maybe that’s why Merlin was so heavy, because he wasn’t just Merlin. And it wasn’t the magic either, because that wasn’t actually within Arthur’s head. Merlin was, though. Silly Merlin. Clumsy Merlin. Wise Merlin.

Emrys.

“You’ve lost, Cor,” Merlin’s voice said from Arthur’s mouth. Arthur felt off again, because while it sounded like Merlin, it didn’t sound like Merlin. There was no awkwardness, no goofy undercurrent, just pure authority. Merlin continued, “Leave now and I’ll let you, I won’t follow.”

 _I will,_ Arthur thought, and his mouth grinned a little, showing he’d been heard.

Cor looked properly insane now, eyes glowing gold and hissing the words to a spell. The electricity in the air made the sorcerer’s hair stand up on end. Merlin raised Arthur’s arm, lips beginning to form that ancient, unknown language.

Of course, the last thing any of them expected was for a sword to suddenly shove its way through Cor’s chest. Merlin rushed to the back of Arthur’s head with such suddenness that the prince almost toppled over, not ready to take over his body again. Then Cor fell to his knees, revealing Lancelot standing with a bloodied sword in hand. Gwen was hovering behind him, wringing her hands.

Gwaine came sprinting into the courtyard and skidded to a stop, sword drawn and at the ready. He looked down at Cor, and then up at Arthur and over at Lancelot. “Is he dead?”

“It…appears so,” Lancelot said, shrugging.

Gwaine cursed, and said, “But I wanted to kill him!”

Cor abruptly sat up, eyes gold, pointed at Arthur and Merlin, and screamed out a spell. A ball of fire sped towards them. Without Arthur or Merlin doing anything, the magic burst from Arthur’s chest and created a shield, making the fire evaporate around them. Gwaine sprang forward, and not half a moment later Cor’s head was rolling around several yards from the rest of his body.

Gwaine looked at Lancelot. “Don’t even,” Lancelot said.

“I wasn’t going to say anything, except that when I kill the evil soul-sucking sorcerer, he stays dead.” Gwaine responded, smiling sweetly. Then, he looked over at Arthur, “Not that I’m saying it’s a bad thing, Arthur, but how are you still alive?”

“Merlin.”

“Merlin?”

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed, and tapped his forehead, “He’s in here.”

“Right,” said Gwaine, “Because that just clears everything up.”

Ignoring him, Arthur frowned and said, “How are we not dead, Merlin? We didn’t say a spell.”

_It’s hard to explain. I don’t always need spells. But, Arthur, where’s my, um, my body? You remember Gwaine being in charge of it last._

Arthur looked expectantly at Gwaine, who said nothing. After a minute, Arthur remembered that he hadn’t actually spoken aloud, really hadn’t spoken at all – Merlin had. It was getting hard to sort out his ideas from Merlin’s. Arthur shook himself, and looked up at Gwaine, and related Merlin’s question.

“He’s with Gaius,” Gwaine said, “Which reminds me – the old man thinks he’s found a solution to this mess.”

“Lead the way, then,” Arthur said. Then, he tipped backward, and had it not been for Gwen and Lancelot jumping forward just in time, he would’ve pitched backwards to the ground. He allowed himself to be towed back to Gaius’s rooms. As they entered, Arthur said, “Gaius, I’m told you’ve an answer.”

“Not in so many words, Sire,” Gaius said, then frowned and raised an eyebrow at them. Merlin and Arthur both squirmed slightly. Gaius continued, “Where’s the staff?”

“It, uh,” Arthur said, and he did his best not to look at Gaius. Instead, his gaze landed on Merlin’s motionless body, “It broke.”

 _Look at me,_ Merlin said, _I look dead._

“Then where’s Merlin?” Gaius asked immediately, gaping.

This, in turn, left Arthur filling in many, many blanks for Gaius and Gwaine. He almost fell over again at one point, to which prompted Gwaine, Lancelot, and Gwen to all leap forward at the same time. They settled him down on a chair. As Arthur talked, Gaius’s eyebrow rose higher and higher. Once Arthur finished, he said, “So, now not only do we need to get Merlin back into his head, we need him out of mine.”

“The longer he’s in there,” Gaius said, “The more dangerous this gets. You’re right, we’ll need to put Merlin right as soon as possible.”

“What happens if we can’t?” Lancelot asked. Four pairs of eyes and five people all stared at him. He fidgeted uncomfortably, “It needs to be asked. We’re all wondering it.”

“Either one of their minds will crush the other,” Gaius said, “Or they’ll entwine into a single mind, and it will be impossible to unwind Arthur from Merlin.”

“Both of those sound less than pleasant,” Arthur muttered. Merlin’s agreement nodded somewhere near his right temple.

“Quite,” Gaius said, “And, unfortunately, there is no remedy for this, not that I could find. But…there is someone who might know what it is that needs to be done. However, neither you nor Merlin is going to like it very much.”

Oh, no, Merlin said, and Arthur was smacked with the image of a forgotten and foreboding cave, flickering torchlight, an amber eye peering from the darkness.

“It’s just a very delicate problem.”

“Gaius, just tell me what it is.”

More memories – Balinor dying in his arms, but not Balinor, something, someone more than that, “When you face the dragon, his heart lies on the right, not the left,” and smiling sadly, saying, “You dealt him a mortal blow,” and then Arthur– his own face, staring at him – flopping over and laughing.

Arthur couldn’t say he exactly liked the direction this was heading.

“I don’t even know if we’ll be able to find him, get a message out,” Gaius said, looking everywhere but at Arthur.

Swinging the sword against a chain, watching Camelot burn, your fault, this is all your fault, “My allegiance is to you,” the wind in his hair and the ground miles and miles below.

“Just tell us who we’re looking for,” Arthur said, massaging his forehead, “And we’ll find a way to get him here, or us to him.”

“He’s, uh,” Gaius said, and stuttered off again, “It’s not that simple, sire –”

“Gaius!”

“The dragon,” Gaius said, and for the first time in Arthur’s memory, the physician looked nervous, “The only one who will know how to fix this is the Great Dragon.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Gaius,” Arthur said slowly, “I killed the dragon.”

Merlin became suspiciously still and silent in the back of his mind. Gaius cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I killed the dragon.”

 _If you say so_ , Merlin said.

“I killed it. I killed that dragon. I took my spear, and I stabbed it, and I killed it. I definitely killed that dragon!” Arthur repeated, and then felt himself wilting slightly. Gaius was watching him with pity in his eyes. “I…didn’t kill the dragon?”

_Well, ‘kill’ is such a strong word –_

“Merlin!”

_I know that you meant to. And, really, you did your best but –_

“Once you’re back in your own head,” Arthur growled, “I’m going to bloody well kill you.”

The reactions to that sentence were as varied and different as the colors of a rainbow. Gwen gasped quietly and chewed on her lip. Gwaine side-stepped so that he was standing between the prone Merlin and Arthur, fingers drumming on the hilt of his sword. Gaius’s eyebrow went higher than Arthur thought should be physically possible, and Lancelot dropped his head to land on his chest with a sigh. Arthur felt Merlin’s own anxiety spike, send a jolt of pure fear through his own chest.

“Oh…Oh, not literally. I’ve stuck his soul in my head. He’s been chattering in here nonstop! Do you really think I’d do that – go through all of this – just to kill him after? Really?” 

Arthur snapped, and then turned to Gaius, “I stand corrected on the issue of the dragon. But even with it alive –”

_He._

“What?”

_The dragon. He’s a he and not an it. His name’s Kilgarrah._

“Fine!” Arthur snapped. Everyone else in the room carefully tried to look like they weren't listening in on Arthur effectively talking to himself. They all failed, save for Gaius. “Fine, even with him still alive, we’d need a Dragonlord to find him, wouldn’t we? And the last Dragonlord is dead.”

“You see, Sire,” Gaius began, just as Merlin said, _Um. Yes, well, about that –_

“For God’s sake, Merlin!” Arthur said, and slammed his head onto the tabletop before him, “Have you ever told me the truth about anything?”

 _Of course I did,_ Merlin said, after a moment, _There were lots of times._

“Like when?”

“Right,” Lancelot said, standing and stretching, and cutting Merlin off before he could answer Arthur, “I’ll go fetch some horses, then. Gaius, I assume that you’re coming as well.”

“Actually,” Gaius said, thoughtfully, “I think it would be best if just Arthur and myself went. And Merlin, of course.”

A deathly silence answered his words, while Arthur was quietly grateful. He was beginning to have trouble tracking who was talking when, and if it were to just be he and Gaius, things would be much simpler for him. And with two souls in his body, Merlin prattling on his head, and everybody worried he would stab his servant given the slightest opportunity, simple sounded rather grand to Arthur.

Of course, Gwaine was less than enthused. “No,” the knight said, “No, I’m coming.”

And then, Lancelot stood, and said, “I’m coming as well.”

“And,” Gwaine added, staring straight at Arthur, “We’re bringing our swords with us.”

“Well, I’m not staying here,” Gwen said, “Not if everyone else is going.”

“She can bring her shoes,” Gwaine mused, “Then Lancelot and I might not need our swords.”

Arthur, head still plunked on the tabletop, groaned aloud. Gaius, however, came to his rescue. “While your urge to protect Merlin is admirable and very much appreciated,” he said, “I think it would be best if we kept our numbers as small as possible. If we manage to contact the dragon, the last thing we need is for him to land and think himself in a trap because of some sort of posse waiting for him.”

“Why would he think that?” Lancelot asked, “He’s a dragon. Surely, he could take a group as small as ours. We’d be only five people. Six people. Five people and Meriln.”

“Five and a half?” Gwaine offered.

“It is how Uther captured him originally,” Gaius pointed out, “As long as there is a Dragonlord commanding him, the dragon will prove powerless.”

 _It’s true,_ Merlin said, _He doesn’t much like being bossed around, though._

After a long while spent arguing between Gwen, Gwaine, Lancelot, and Gaius while Arthur tried to ignore Merlin, it was finally decided that the two knights and Gwen would remain in Camelot while Gaius, Arthur and Merlin rode out to try and find the Great Dragon. Who Arthur hadn’t killed. With Merlin the Dragonlord. Not for the first time, Arthur wondered if he was dreaming. Merlin made him pinch himself, and with a small, internal glare Arthur was forced to concede that all of this was actually happening.

They set out at a slower pace to accommodate Gaius, and Arthur kept Merlin’s body perched in front of him. In his head, Merlin kept prattling on about how weird it was to be staring at himself. _Is that how my hair always looks from behind? Wow, I really am pale, aren’t I? This is so bizarre! Where’s my neckerchief? If Gwaine’s burned it, I’ll make him pay, I swear. Have my ears always stuck out that much? I bet it’s just the angle we’re looking from. Right? Arthur? You’re ignoring me. Was it something I said? Arthur?_

He was so preoccupied trying to tune out was basically his own thoughts that when Gaius reigned in his horse and frowned, Arthur had very little idea what was happening. Of course, then Gwaine came crashing through the bushes after them on his horse, with Lancelot galloping behind him and yelling for him to stop, and Gwen just behind Lancelot, calling for him to not ride so fast.

“I thought I told you all to stay at the castle,” Arthur growled.

“You did, and we were going to,” Gwen said, “But then Gwaine ran off after you, and Lancelot went after him, and I tried to stop Lancelot, but none of us could seem to catch each other, and…here we are.”

Arthur looked at Gwaine. “So this is your fault, is it?”

The knight nodded, then said, “Yes.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“Not with Merlin, no,” Gwaine said.

“I’ve –”

“Don’t take it personally,” Gwaine said. Gwen and Lancelot did their best to appear to not be listening in, and Gaius just looked exasperated. Gwaine continued, “It’s not that I don’t trust you with Merlin, it’s that I don’t trust anyone with Merlin. ‘Cept for me, of course, but that really goes without saying. Hell, I don’t even trust Merlin with Merlin.”

_He doesn’t know I can hear him, does he?_

“I don’t think so,” Arthur said, and when Gwaine gave him a questioning look, he said, “Merlin. He’s feeling neglected.”

“Maybe,” Gwaine said mildly, “He should consider who has been carting around his lazy body all night. Then we’ll talk about neglected.”

_Noted._

They rode onwards, until they came to the large clearing in the forest where Arthur had “slain” the dragon. “All right, how do we find the dragon?” Arthur asked.

“The power of the Dragonlords lies within the soul,” a new voice announced, almost immediately, reverberating around between Arthur’s ears, “That is where your power lies. It is there where you are kin.”

Arthur was startled enough to yelp and jump, sending him toppling off of his horse and onto the damp grass, Merlin’s body landing heavily on top of him. As Gwen and Lancelot both leapt to his aid, Gwaine calmly scooped up Merlin and walked away, whistling a little, clearly glad to be removing Merlin from Arthur’s possession. Through gritted teeth, Arthur said, “What the hell was that?”

 _Instructions?_ Merlin offered feebly.

“From who?” Arthur asked, “And how did they get in our head?!”

_From, uh, from Balinor. It’s a…a Dragonlord thing._

Another memory flashed across Arthur’s vision, Merlin and that same voice, Balinor, talking: “Hunith? She is still alive?” “Yes. She’s my mother.” “Then she married. That’s good.” “She never married. I’m–”

Merlin pushed the memory away roughly before it could finish. Arthur made a decision that it was something to deal with later, once things had quieted down a little and they’d managed to survive a tête-à-tête with a dragon. As Lancelot hauled him to his feet and Gwen hovered and Gaius stiffly got down from his horse, Arthur said, not without a little trepidation, “Is it going to happen again?”

_No, probably not. All it means is that this is going to work. May I?_

“Whatever,” Arthur said, and this time when Merlin rushed forward, he wasn’t thrown at all. He wondered, in a vague sort of way, if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Words, harsh like a roar, flew from his mouth, echoing in the early morning air. On the horizon, the sun was just beginning to rise. As the last word died on their lips, and Merlin pulled away to the back of Arthur’s head again, all of them waited, barely breathing. Finally, Gwaine broke the silence.

“Well,” he said, “That was anticlimactic.”

“What were you expecting?” Gaius answered, hands tucked into his sleeves against the slight chill, “For the dragon to just appear instantly?”

“A little, yes,” Gwaine said.

 _It takes him a while to get here, sometimes more than an hour,_ Merlin said, and Arthur relayed his words to the others. However, it was only ten minutes later that suddenly Merlin’s entire consciousness perked up, and the magic seemed to lurch forward. _Oh, no, there he is._

Arthur heard the sound of wings beating against the air before the great beast cleared the horizon, landing loudly before them. Gwen stumbled back half a step, moving to stand behind Lancelot. Gwaine, from where he stood with Merlin’s body, unsheathed his sword, as did Lancelot. Arthur would’ve done the same, except for at the sight of the great lizard Merlin’s entire consciousness had simply…relaxed. It was a contagious sensation, one that Arthur wasn’t entirely sure he was comfortable with. Gaius seemed as unfazed as ever.

“Some days ago all of magic screamed aloud,” Kilgarrah said, “I can only assume that I’m looking at the outcome. One coin, indeed.”

Arthur didn’t know what that meant, but Merlin laughed. Laughed. At something the dragon had said. There were so many things wrong here that Arthur didn’t even know where to start.

“Dragon,” Arthur said, his voice cracking, “I –”

“I will get to you in a moment, Arthur Pendragon,” Kilgarrah said, cutting him off cleanly, “First, what have you done with my warlock’s body?”

“Your warlock?” Arthur said, and wondered at the small spike of jealousy that shot through him. Merlin did his best not to comment.

“He’s here,” Gwaine said.

The dragon swung its – no, Arthur corrected, his – head around to stare at the knight. Gwaine swallowed slightly, and shifted his grip on his sword, but otherwise didn’t back down. Arthur was somewhat impressed. “You are Sir Gwaine,” the dragon said.

“Aye,” he said, “And…you’re the dragon.”

Kilgarrah chuckled slightly. “You have done well today, sir knight,” he said, “You’ve just begun to figure out your destiny, have you not?”

“I think so,” Gwaine said, “At least, I’ve gotten a bit of a handle on it.”

“Then you need not talk with me,” the dragon said, and swung his head to contemplate Gaius. “As always, physician, I’ve nothing new to say to you.”

Gaius nodded once.

Now, Kilgarrah fixed its amber eyes on Lancelot and Guinevere. “Ah, the Queen and her knight,” he said, “I do admit, I look forward to how this will play out. But, for now, I thank you both as well. Now, if you would, bring me his body and soul. That is why you’ve called me here, is it not?”

So, Gwaine, looking more than a little anxious, carried Merlin’s body over next to Arthur and laid him on the grass. He hesitated for a while before dropping back to stand by Gaius, Gwen, and Lancelot, leaving Arthur, Merlin, and Merlin’s body alone in front of the dragon. Kilgarrah lowered his head so it was even with Arthur’s face. In a vague sort of way, Arthur noticed that he could probably fit his entire head into one of the dragon’s nostrils. _Why would you even want to?_ Merlin asked. Arthur silently shushed him.

“You may want to sit, Arthur,” Kilgarrah said.

“I’ll stand, thanks,” Arthur answered coolly. Merlin stirred in the back of his head.

The dragon seemed amused, and snorted. “Fine,” he said, then, “This will probably be uncomfortable.”

Kilgarrah inhaled sharply, and with a surprise yelp, Merlin was suddenly gone from Arthur’s head. Arthur, thrown off balance, was light headed. The world swam around him, the ground tilted beneath his feet, and he landed on his behind as everything slid in and out of focus. The blue light was back, Merlin’s soul suspended in the air between Arthur and the dragon. Arthur blinked heavily, his stomach rolling. He felt like weighed no more than a leaf, soaring on the wind. Then the dragon blew out a blast of air, and Merlin’s soul flew out of Arthur’s line of sight. It took Arthur a moment to remember how to turn his head, and when he did, it was to Merlin twitching slightly beside him. Arthur crawled over as the others rushed up behind him.

“Merlin, you’re okay. I have you. Idiot, you’re all right.” Arthur grasped Merlin by the shoulder, the other hand going to his head, holding him up. A harsh shudder ran through Merlin’s body, and his eyes opened and he was staring at Arthur, shaking like a leaf, and God, if it wasn’t one the single greatest things that Arthur had ever seen.

“Ar-Arthur?” Merlin stuttered, voice barely over the volume of a sigh.

“You’re all right,” Arthur repeated, “It’s over, we’ve got you. You’ll be all right.”

He didn’t know which one of them he was trying to convince. So, he settled for looking up at the dragon, and said, “Thank you.”

“Don’t make the assumption that I’ve done anything for you, King Arthur,” the dragon said. “Until we meet again. Keep Merlin out of trouble, won’t you? I’m sure your friends behind you will help. If anything happens to him, I will burn the skin off of your bones and then eat what’s left.”

All of this was said in a very light, conversational way, such as ‘the weather has been rather nasty, hasn’t it’ or ‘we’re having stew for dinner, be sure to set the table’. The dragon stared at him for a long moment, and then took to the sky, disappearing over the tree line.

Gwaine came up behind Arthur. “Just ‘cause the big lizard called you King doesn’t mean I’m going to. I’m not calling you King until you’ve a new, shinier crown,” he said bluntly, “But in the mean time, let me take Merlin, eh? You look like you’re about to keel over yourself.”

It was at Gwaine’s words that Arthur realized that he was still feeling very off kilter, and promptly passed out.

\--

When Merlin woke up, the first thing he said was a wordless croak. Almost instantly, his head was scooped up and a goblet of water pressed to his mouth. Merlin drank greedily, and from above him, a voice said, “Easy, my friend. Camelot’s not going to run out of water.”

Merlin opened his eyes. Gwaine stared down at him. “You had me worried for a bit there,” he said, “You’ve been out for around two days.”

“M’sorry,” Merlin whispered, and his tongue felt heavy, tripping and sliding over words, and pins and needles were running around in his throat, “Should’ve…told…’bout magic –”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Gwaine answered, laying a cool cloth on Merlin’s forehead, “I already knew, anyway.”

And when Merlin glared up at him, Gwaine shifted uncomfortably, and said, “Don’t look at me like that. I was waiting for you to tell me,” he said, “It’s doesn’t mean anything if you don’t trust me.”

And Merlin slipped away again, and he dreamt of wyverns and wolves and taverns. He felt only as if he’d blinked, but when he opened his eyes again it was Lancelot, and not Gwaine, sitting at his bedside. The knight helped him drink some water, and as he was settling Merlin back against the pillows, he spoke.

“Merlin,” Lancelot said, apprehensive, as if he shouldn’t be saying this, “Thank you. For Gwen, the spell, I…thank you. I owe you her life, and I will repay you fully.”

Merlin nodded, and tried to ask if Arthur had been by, but he drifted away.

The next time he woke, Merlin was freezing. He shivered beneath an already impressive mound of blankets, and when he opened his eyes Merlin could see a fire roaring in the hearth. Gwen leaned over him, tucking a blanket tightly about him. She noticed him looking at her, and her face broke into a grin. “Merlin!” she said.

“S’cold,” he muttered.

“Gaius said your magic is trying to settle,” Gwen explained quietly, sitting down next to him. Merlin noticed fuzzily that though she wore short sleeves and her hair was twisted up and off her neck, she was still sweating slightly. “He said you’d be a bit off for a while. Temperature included. You’ve been heating the room.”

He hummed slightly, shivering, wanting to apologize but too cold to do so. Gwen reached out and laid a hand on his forehead. Merlin sighed at the heat of it, letting his eyes flutter closed.

“Merlin?” Gwen said in a small voice.

Again, Merlin hummed, unable to muster the energy to do anything else.

“I understand why you didn’t tell Arthur or the knights about your magic,” she said, “But I wish you would have told me. I get it, though, but…you’re my best friend, did you know? And I hate that you had to do all of this alone.”

Merlin opened his eyes to find Gwen’s eyes a little misty. She smiled at him, and kissed his forehead.

“Sleep,” she said, “I’m looking after you.” And sleep he did, though whether it was due to Gwen’s request or because he was unable to do otherwise was never known.

The fourth time Merlin woke up, he felt something resembling normal. Then he tried to sit up. The world tilted dangerously, and he couldn’t breathe, oh, God, he couldn’t get air, suffocating.

“Merlin.”

Someone was saying his name, but he couldn’t even draw air, let alone answer.

“Merlin!”

And then his face was stinging and he felt like he was on a boat, rising up and down. But he was breathing. He gasped, clutching at his chest, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Hands were clutching his arms painfully tight, and Merlin focused on that. When he finally opened his eyes, it was to Gaius staring at him.

He swallowed painfully. “Is Arthur going to kill me?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” the physician said.

“I lied,” he whispered, still rising and falling, up and down, “For years. And I use magic. And he knows–”

“Merlin,” Gaius cut in, “Enough.”

“But,” Merlin said, frowning, “Uther’s laws, I –”

“Don’t worry over it now, my boy,” Gaius said, laying him back down slowly, “You need your strength. All we can do is wait, and hope.”

And, maybe he only imagined it, but Merlin could have sworn he felt fingers quietly brush against his forehead, accompanied by a ragged sigh, before he fell unconscious once more. After that, it all became sort of blurred together. Every time he woke, it was for a longer stretch of time. Every time, however, something new would be going wrong. He’d be able to sit up but unable to move his left arm. He regained the use of the arm just to go blind for the span of a day. His sight returned, only to cough and send twenty glass vials shattering to the floor. And, every time, his magic stirred with every move that he made. But as the days passed, things began to settle. Slowly, slowly. So, so slowly.

He heard not a word from Arthur, not for a week.


	8. Chapter 8

_It starts somewhere in his stomach. A tug, a pull. It’s wrong, so wrong, but no matter how hard he fights he can’t get loose. He can see Gwaine and Arthur running forwards, just to get thrown away again and again. He wants to cry. He knows he could get away, but then Arthur would know, and he can’t let that happen, not yet, not like this. His head is pounding and he can’t think straight enough to try and magic his way out. God only knows what would if happen if he were to try…_

_The tugging moves up into his chest, and into his throat, and he’s choking on his own magic. Then he feels the cold stone of that staff lightly touch his forehead, and the world explodes around him. This isn’t just his magic, it’s something more. It’s like every moment that he’s ever experienced is being thrown at him at once, every emotion, every hurt, every touch. But then it’s all gone, and he’s nothing, nothing, just floating and stuck and unable to move, like the slightest wind will send him spiraling away into the void._

_It’s worse than before. He’s vanishing, and he can’t stop it, getting pulled into a million pieces. A final thought –_

_Who’s going to look after Arthur?_

_It hurts like death._

“It’s time to wake, Sire,” an unfamiliar voice said.

Arthur twitched and opened his eyes. He’d had the nightmare more than once, a left over effect from Merlin’s brief stint in his head. It wasn’t always that one – sometimes it was other things, other memories. Arthur would always be somewhat jolted after, even when the dreams weren’t bad. After all, he – Arthur – featured in many of them. To see his own face, from Merlin’s perspective, was odd, to say the least. He could somewhat understand Merlin’s endless chatter on the ride to see the dragon now.

He blinked as Merlin’s fill-in servant pulled open the curtains only after the boy was sure Arthur was awake. Breakfast was laid out on the table, his armor and sword set up and ready should he need it. His room was the very definition of clean, not a single thing out of place. Everything was polished, organized, and Arthur was sure that if he were to go to the stables, they would be immaculate.

It was awful, and Arthur hated it. Merlin couldn’t return to work soon enough. Then his armor would be scuffed, his breakfast vanished under mysterious circumstances, his sword under the wardrobe, his rooms a mess, and his stables disgraceful. Everything would be back to the way in which Arthur was accustomed.

“Will you be going to the training yards today, Sire?” Not-Merlin asked, all demure and retiring as Arthur dressed behind the screen.

For a moment, Arthur plays this scene out in his head, with Not-Merlin replaced by Merlin. “Rise and shine!” Merlin would say, whipping the curtains open much louder than should be humanly possible, and if Merlin was feeling particularly happy that day, he’d tack on a “Let’s have you, Lazy Daisy,” or something even more obnoxious. Arthur would insult him, and Merlin would shoot something ridiculous back, Arthur would throw something, Merlin would flee, and they’d both pretend to be terribly upset with each other while trying not to laugh. Then Merlin would peek around the door to stare at him, inform him he was fat, and, like it or not, would be spending his time training and exercising. Arthur would throw something else at him in response. Merlin would grin and run off again.

It was moments like that where Arthur would sometimes forget he was a prince. There were only two people in the world that could give him cause to do that – Gwen and Merlin. Arthur wished more than he’d ever wished for anything before that he could undo the last few weeks. He didn’t want to know about Merlin’s magic. He didn’t want to be kept up at night by nightmares that weren’t his. He didn’t want to know that his servant, no, his friend – because, really, the only one who he had been fooling about that was himself – had been lying to him since the day they’d met.

But he did know. And, even though Merlin had taken a joyride through his mind, Arthur still wondered – what was the real Merlin? He didn’t know anymore. After passing out – and he didn’t faint, no matter what Gwaine said, because fainting was wimpy and weak and not something that the future king of Camelot occupied his time doing – Arthur had slept for close to a day. After he’d woken, Gwen had approached him, saying, “We’ve all taken shifts watching Merlin. When would –”

And Arthur’s answer had surprised even himself, with the vehemence he answered with, “No, I can’t.”

Gwen, to her credit, didn’t push him. She did, however, in tandem with Lancelot, update him daily on Merlin’s recovery or lack thereof. Gwaine, however, would just look at him sideways, and say, “Go and see for yourself. He’s wondering where you are, you know. Not that he’ll say so, of course, but still.”

“Sire?” Not-Merlin repeated.

Enough of this, Arthur thought, I’m done.

“No, I won’t be going to the training yards,” Arthur said, “And you are dismissed.”

He had a warlock to talk to.

\--

When Arthur entered, Merlin was propped up in a chair by the table, Gwaine sitting across from him. Neither were really talking, but there was a sort of comfortable silence that settled around the room. As soon as Gwaine laid his eyes on Arthur, though, that comfort disappeared in a cloud of apprehension.

“Arthur,” Gwaine said, straightening slightly, and Merlin turned his head to look at Arthur with wide eyes, “What –”

“I’d like to speak to Merlin alone,” Arthur said.

The knight waited until Merlin gave him a small nod, and even then, hesitated at the door. Arthur stared at him until Gwaine pulled the door shut, and it ‘clicked’ behind him.

“I’m told you don’t remember much after the bandits’ castle,” Arthur said, “It’s not much fun, is it, to wake up and have no idea what’s going on around you. You have to rely on whatever everyone else tells you happened. You have to trust them.”

“I-I suppose,” Merlin said.

“No, it is, it’s rubbish, you can admit it. And it’s even worse when you find out that the one person you trusted above everyone else has been feeding you lies and falsehoods.”

“Arthur –”

“Tell me, Merlin, what’s the first thing that you do remember, after the courtyard?” Arthur said, “Because I am dying to know.”

“Waking up,” he said, quiet and shaky, “And the, uh, the –”

“Dragon? The one you said was dead?” Arthur said, and Merlin didn’t move, only stared up at him with still wide eyes. Arthur tried to remind himself that this wasn’t Merlin, his bumbling and clumsy friend with the craziest lucky streak he’d ever seen, but Merlin, liar and backstabber and all powerful warlock. He failed, completely, but pressed on regardless, “You’ve lied to me.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Merlin said, immediately, “I…I was scared.”

“Why did you even come here?” Arthur said, “Why? Camelot kills people like you.”

“I know!” Merlin said, and his voice rose in volume, “Why do you think I didn’t tell you?”

“You should have trusted me!” Arthur roared, and suddenly, he realized that was the problem he had been having all along. He had trusted Merlin with everything from matters of state to the state of his clothes. Every bit of faith that Arthur had he had handed over to Merlin without a second thought. He had always known Merlin was hiding something, but he had always assumed it was something to do with nicking food or shirking chores. Little things, secret things that Merlin told no one. But Arthur felt like the last person to be brought in on a joke, excluded and alone. He had been the last to find out what Merlin had been hiding, and in the end Merlin’s hand had been forced, instead of Merlin trusting Arthur.

Merlin’s mouth was hanging open a little, and then he blinked, his entire face softening. “Arthur, I do trust you,” he said, “I trust you with –”

“Before all this,” Arthur said, cutting Merlin off again, “Who knew? Gaius?”

“Lancelot, too,” Merlin said, “He overheard me use a spell that first time he showed up. And my mother, obviously. Will, too, but he t-took the blame, before he...Gwaine said he’d figured it out, but I didn’t tell him.”

“And why didn’t you tell me?” Arthur asked. It was the most vulnerable he’d felt in years.

“If I had,” Merlin said, slowly, thinking as he spoke, “You would have been forced to choose between your father and me. You love your father, and I couldn’t do that to you. And…it had been such a long time, guess I just didn’t want this to happen.”

“I have questions.”

“I’ll answer them,” Merlin said, “I’ll answer them as best I can.”

“And no lies,” Arthur said, “I won’t stand for it. Swear you’ll only tell the truth.”

“I swear it,” Merlin said. He looked like a man on trial - belatedly, Arthur realized that Merlin kind of was.

“Gaius told me some, but he left things out,” Arthur said, “So…the dragon.”

What followed were two of the more tense hours of Arthur’s life. Merlin, true to his word, told Arthur everything. He told him about sneaking down to talk to the dragon, night after night. He told him how he’d struck a bargain with the great beast, how that ended with Camelot in flames. Merlin told Arthur about Balinor, the last Dragonlord who wasn’t quite, and how he couldn’t bring himself to kill the dragon. Arthur, feeling the world’s biggest prat, remembered his words to Merlin after that – No man is worth your tears – and swallowed down an apology. That could come later.

Merlin went on, telling Arthur about three years of magic, about questing beasts and griffins and anfancs and unicorns. About a man named Edwin and a boy named Mordred. About how he’d known something had gone horribly wrong with Morgana, and why he had been mysteriously absent when Cenred and Morgause had waged their war on the city. He told Arthur about destinies, magic, and secrets. He said about how he’d tried to tell Arthur, screamed the truth to the entire court of Camelot, but no one ever seemed to really believe him, so he’d just given up. He told Arthur about Nimueh and the witch hunter, and poisoning Morgana and the magical Gilli. He told him about all the times that Arthur had gotten clonked on the head, and how almost every time Merlin had used magic while the prince was unconscious. Merlin told Arthur an abridged version of three years of hiding, three years of lying, three years of magic.

“What about that winged cat?” Arthur asked, “The one that showed up around when the Druid girl –”

“Freya,” Merlin cut in, “Her name was Freya.”

Watching the way that shutters slammed shut in the backs of Merlin’s eyes, Arthur knew that was all that he’d get out of him on that particular subject. So, instead, he said, “Just how many times have you saved my life? From what you’re saying…it sounds like a lot.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Merlin said, “Thirty? Forty? Sixty, tops.”

Arthur just stared at him, blinking. Merlin looked back, not quite meeting his eyes. The warlock – and, was that an odd word to tack to Merlin – cleared his throat, and said, “Are you going to kill me?”

“No,” Arthur said, and he meant it, “You’ve had your soul sucked out through your face. I think that’s punishment enough for using magic.”

“Banished, then,” Merlin said. His jaw was set.

“No, not banished either,” Arthur said, “As I said, you’ve been punished enough for the magic. I don’t even really care that you have it– frankly, it makes a lot of things make a lot more sense. But I don’t know who you are anymore. I don’t know if I can…I need some time to think.”

He turned, and walked from the room, and didn’t look back. He almost tripped over Gwaine, who was waiting in the hall and had dozed off. Arthur didn’t bother to wake him.

He had some thinking to do.

\--

As Arthur walked through the halls, he felt like everyone was staring at him. The bag slung over one shoulder slammed into his thigh with every step, and it felt like a million pounds. If he were to get caught…he shook himself, and continued on his way to Gaius’s rooms.

“Arthur,” Gwen said, coming up next to him. Lancelot and Gwaine were with her. “We wanted to talk to you.”

“Are you here to tell me that if I hurt Merlin you’ll help the dragon cook me?” Arthur asked monotonously, not looking at them, “No, wait, you’ve all basically done that.”

“That’s actually why we’re here,” Gwen said. Lancelot and Gwaine stood behind her. Apparently, they’d elected the lady of their group to do the talking, judging her to keep Arthur the calmest. “We haven’t been fair to you, Arthur. All of this happened because none of us trusted the others. We didn’t trust you, and we’re sorry. Really, truly, sincerely sorry.”

“We were in the wrong,” Lancelot added, “And we should’ve had more faith in you.”

Gwen elbowed Gwaine slightly. The other knight sighed, and said, “I should’ve considered that you weren’t going to kill Merlin. But, honestly, Arthur, I’d act the same way if we had to do this again. Merlin’s so busy looking after you that someone’s got to look after him.”

Lancelot shoved him.

Gwaine, sighing, said with the air of one who had been forced at sword point to memorize their lines, “We were inconsiderate and out of line and all that. We’re sorry.”

Arthur blinked at them. Twice. Again. “…Really?” he asked, surprised by how much he was actually relieved to hear them say it, “All of you?”

“Well, we can’t speak for the dragon,” Gwaine said, “But as far as the present company goes – we collectively apologize. Mostly.”

Lancelot shoved him again. Gwaine appeared unfazed.

“I – thank you,” Arthur said, “Because I’m not my father.”

“We know,” Gwen said, while Lancelot and Gwaine nodded, “And we know now more than ever before.”

“We’ve wronged you,” Lancelot said, “And we’re sorry.”

“I accept it,” Arthur said, “But if I’m going to be king, then you’re going to have to trust that I’m going to do the right thing. I need to know that you are behind me.”

All three bubbled up simultaneously with reassurances. Arthur let them go for a while before waving them silent with a hand. Gwen nodded at the two knights, who wandered away down the hall. 

“I really am sorry,” Gwen said, gripping his arm. Arthur noticed that she had a bandage tied around it.

“What happened?” Arthur asked, lifting her bandaged hand to kiss her fingertips.

“I slipped while I was chopping some vegetables,” she said. 

Arthur swallowed the question of why she had been doing cooking work instead of having a servant do it for her. Another thought had occurred to him. “Wait,” Arthur said, frowning, “Merlin’s spell can stop lightening but not cutlery?”

“I made Merlin take it off,” she said, grinning slightly, “I had to force him, though. I was worried it was just draining him more.”

“You should’ve left it,” he said, “Then I wouldn’t have had to worry about you.”

Gwen just grinned, and moved off down the hall. Arthur watched until she was gone and continued on his way. “Gaius?” Arthur called, knocking as he pushed open the door.

“One moment, Sire,” Gaius said, moving a vial over a flame. The physician then turned to Arthur, “What can I do for you?”

“I’m, uh,” Arthur said, “I’m here to talk to Merlin.”

“He’s in his room,” Gaius said, “I’d call him down, but his legs aren’t working today.”

That made Arthur pause. “Pardon?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Gaius said, “Last week, he lost one sense for every day of the week. First he was blind, then he was deaf…you missed when he couldn’t talk, Sire, I know you would’ve enjoyed that one–”

“It’s still happening?” Arthur said, “But it’s been two weeks.”

Gaius shrugged helplessly. “All we can do is wait it out, let him settle in his own time.”

“I see,” Arthur said, and turned to go.

“Try not to mention Cor, or what happened, if you can,” Gaius called after him, “He gets anxious, and then things tend to shatter.”

Arthur nodded, and jogged up the steps into Merlin’s room. The warlock – it wasn’t as strange, now that Arthur had had time to mull it over – was flipping through a book that looked like it was about magical creatures. As he had before, Arthur cleared his throat. Merlin, jumping, sent the book flying and then glared at the door. When he saw who stood there, all exasperation melted away.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, looking guarded and hopeful all at one time.

“I’ve been thinking this over,” Arthur said.

“And?”

“And, I’ve decided to give you another chance,” he said, and held up a finger, “But. If you lie to me again, about anything, I will never speak to you again. And I mean about anything, Merlin.”

Merlin nodded fast and violently enough that Arthur worried he might injure himself.

“Now,” Arthur said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been by. It’s just –”

“No, I understand,” Merlin said, and when Arthur opened his mouth to talk again, Merlin continued, “Really. You don’t have to apologize.”

Arthur perched, legs folded, on the edge of Merlin’s bed. Arthur just stared the other boy down. Merlin fidgeted, and Arthur let him, until the bedridden warlock finally said, “What?”

“Show me,” Arthur said.

“Show you what?”

“Magic, of course,” he said, with a slight roll of his eyes, “Show me. I want to see it.”

Merlin regarded him warily, cautiously.

Arthur sighed, “Merlin.”

“Gaius wouldn’t like it,” Merlin muttered, plucking at the blankets, “Said I shouldn’t try and do magic for a bit. It’s kind of sloshy, right now.”

“Sloshy?”

“I can feel it moving around,” Merlin said, rubbing his chest, “It’s not as bad as it was, but every time I think about it or move or anything, it gets all wibbly-wobbly. This is weird, talking to you about magic –”

“Get used to it,” Arthur said, “We’re going to be having lots of chats like this one. But do you know what I think, Merlin?”

“You think?” Merlin answered, “Gaius was right, I do learn something new every day!”

And, just like that, everything snapped back into place. Arthur felt his shoulders relax, and he drummed his fingers against his bag. It wasn’t a perfect fit, not like they used to be. But Merlin – all powerful and wise – was making stupid jokes and grinning crookedly like he was God’s gift to the earth. Arthur decided to humor him, and ignore the comment. “I think,” Arthur continued, “That you are making excuses and behaving like a girl.”

“Gwen would say that’s a compliment.”

“Gwen isn’t here right now.”

“It’s just…Why?” Merlin said, suddenly serious, “Why do you want to see? You hated magic before.”

Arthur paused, considering. “I did. Or, at least, I hated what I thought was magic. But I’d only been seeing half of it, hadn’t I? I don’t hate unicorns, and they’re magic. I don’t hate Gaius, and I’m nearly positive that he’s magic. And I certainly don’t hate you, and if we’ve learned anything the last few days, it’s that you are most definitely magic. Gwen said you’re the reason she wasn’t hurt, not even by the lightening, and God knows that wasn’t an evil action,” Arthur said, and then shrugged, “Then, with Cor –”

Merlin’s hands clenched into fists around the coverlet, the table rattled ominously, and Arthur quickly pushed forward.

“You have power, Merlin, more than I ever realized one man could have. When you were running around in my head,” Arthur tapped his temple, “I got a few glimpses of...of you, I guess. Things you wanted to do, plan to do…things you’d never do. I’m…I guess that I’m curious. I have questions. And…you’ve been hiding long enough. Now, as your prince, I command you to show me something magic. Nothing big, or grand, just something.”

Merlin stared back at him for a long time. Then, he waved his hand over the candle on his nightstand. His eyes barely flashed to gold, and then the wick was burning. Arthur felt a smile pull on his face, but suddenly the flame leapt up to the ceiling. Merlin squeaked and pushed himself backwards and away, and Arthur grabbed the goblet full of water and dumped it on the fire. It went out with a hiss.

Arthur looked over to where Merlin sat on the floor, having fallen out of the bed. “What,” Arthur said, crossing his arms, “Was that?”

“L-Like I said,” Merlin answered, “Sloshy.”

Arthur crossed over and helped lever Merlin back into the bed. As Gaius had said, Merlin’s ability to move his legs had gone on a brief holiday. The small display of magic – and it’s unintended escalation – had clearly drained Merlin, for as soon as Arthur had him settled in his bed again, Merlin’s eyes began to droop shut.

Another thought had occurred to Arthur though. “I’d almost forgotten,” he said, and reached over to pull the book from his bag, “Here.”

Merlin frowned sleepily, grinding the palm of his hand into his eye. “What is it?”

“It’s a book,” Arthur said, clearing his throat, “A, uh, a spell book. I lifted it from the vaults. To say thank you for looking after Gwen, and…and all of us.”

“It was nothing,” Merlin said, blinking, “Really. But I can’t accept this, Arthur, you could get into trouble –”

“It wasn’t nothing, it was everything. There’s no way that I can ever…You could’ve died, Merlin, but you still saved her, and us, and I…thank you.” Arthur said, and the awkward silence of male bonding blanketed the room. In a desperate attempt to restore normality, Arthur tapped the book cover, “Be careful with this, though.”

Merlin nodded, still fighting to keep his eyes open. “I’ll put it with the other one, later,” he muttered.

Arthur fought the urge to slap Merlin in the back of the head, and almost lost. “Other one, Merlin?” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“It’s safe.”

“You’ve been keeping it under the floorboards, haven’t you?”

“Um, I…No?”

“Go to sleep, idiot,” Arthur said, sighing.

“Prat,” Merlin murmured into his pillow, and began to snore softly.

Arthur waited until Merlin’s breathing evened out and it was clear he was asleep. Then, he reached out and quietly carded his fingers through black hair. He let out a shaky breath through his nose, and closed his eyes for a moment, pushing back the sudden urge to cry. From the distance of memories, Merlin’s screams echoed through his head. “On my life, Merlin,” Arthur said, “I will never allow you to be used like that again. I swear it.”

He leaned back in the chair, legs propped on the end of Merlin’s bed, and stared at the wall. He thought of many things, of screams and Gwen’s curls floating in the air, of souls flying free and magic running through his veins like fire. He thought of faithful knights and warlocks with too much magic and too much loyalty for their own good. Eventually, he fell asleep. That is how Gaius found them, and he smiled at the sight of the prince and his warlock.

Of course, then he happened to notice the scorch mark on his once pristine ceiling.

_“Merlin!”_

 

END.


End file.
